The Rogue and The Revolutionary
by Ash Dogen
Summary: An AU retelling of the saga, beginning pre-ANH on Coruscant with two strangers, one preoccupied with her destiny and the other chasing a ghost from his past, whose lives become intertwined through a fateful first meeting that has profound implications for both. Mix of what will likely be a lot of Canon & EU characters and places with some of my own creations thrown in.
1. Chapter 1

_Suffice to say, this AU has been an absolute pain in the neck._

 _Having removed it earlier, I've gone back through the seven chapters I've written and really tried to clean them up, change a few little things here and there, and get them all to a place I'm happy with, where I feel I can move forward with this story._

 _So apologies for my obsessiveness over it, having had an opportunity to read it through, make some tweaks and really think about how I can get all of the ideas I have for it to come off I feel like it's back on track. I hope anyone who has read it so far will stick with it and enjoy what I have in mind for this AU._

 _I think I'm in the right place with it now. I_ _t's going to be a long, ongoing project with a lot of characters and places featuring throughout; a mix of OT canon, EU and things of my own creation but, at it's heart, it is a Han/Leia story. Fundamentally, I hope that my portrayal of those characters will remain true to what we know and love about them; how they become the people they eventually do will likely be quite different to what we saw in the original trilogy._

 _All usual disclaimers apply._

* * *

 _1_

Leia took in a deep breath of the crisp night air.

The chill was a welcome relief from the stifling heat of the function room. It had been too claustrophobic in there and she'd felt out of place amidst all of the revelry of a raucous birthday celebration.

She hadn't wanted to go to the party in the first place; it had been Winter who'd cajoled her into it, needling her that she was old beyond her years and didn't know how to simply relax and allow herself to have fun. Leia couldn't understand how such a rudimentary, but well-meaning, form of manipulation had managed to wear down her resolve but it had. And she could admit to being a little curious as to whether attending the party could offer a temporary but welcome respite from the unrelenting demands of her career.

Either way, it had been a complete waste of time.

As friendly as she'd always been with Hadlan Amatt, Leia had begun to feel a little uncomfortable in his presence given that he'd seemingly decided to no longer pretend that he wasn't completely infatuated with her. And when he'd extended an invitation to the celebration of his twentieth birthday to her, Leia's first inclination had been to refuse.

She worried now that her attendance might have given him the wrong idea. Upon seeing her, Hadlan had immediately pulled Leia to his side, steering her around the room and introducing her to a stream of strangers with a fervour that made her a little uneasy. Ever the politician, Leia had managed to grin and endure it for only so long before she'd gently but firmly extricated herself from his attentions and managed to retreat into a quiet corner of the spacious room, eager to avoid attracting any further attention.

She'd exchanged pleasantries with some of the guests after that, politely talking politics mostly while also cordially listening to an elderly dignitary from Lolnar enthuse proudly that his grandson had just been accepted in the Imperial Academy on Carida.

Leia could only assume that the dignitary hadn't been aware of her burgeoning reputation as something of an outspoken dissident against Imperial rule in the senate.

After three hours, in which she'd had to repeatedly decline Hadlan's persistent efforts to coax her into a dance with him, Leia's patience had reached its limits and she'd finally made her escape. She hadn't bothered saying goodbye; the last time she'd seen Hadlan, he'd barely been able to stand up straight given the amount of celebratory drinks he'd been plied with.

It was a pleasant night out. The Senate had been adjourned for the week earlier that day and so there was a relaxed feel in the air around the political quarter of Coruscant. Given she'd only had two glasses of wine and her apartment building was only a short distance away, Leia decided to walk home alone; she didn't see any point in comming either Winter or her security detail to let them know she was on her way given that it wasn't particularly late just yet and Leia thought she might take her time and enjoy slight detour through the tranquil gardens that were close to her building.

And she wanted some time to herself in which she could just think without any sort of distraction.

It had been a bruising week and Leia was relieved to be leaving the planet to return to Alderaan some time in the next couple of days. Her in-session argument with Senator Drask had attracted considerable attention from the media and Leia knew that reprisals would be forthcoming; Drask was a steadfast Imperial loyalist, a rumoured political protégé of Palpatine himself. By challenging so fervently in the public arena of the Senate, Leia had cast herself further as the thorn in the Emperor's side, the young upstart from a pacifist world who refused to remain silent.

But she was undeterred. The reports of Imperial superweapons being tested somewhere out on the furthest reaches of the Outer Rim could not be ignored and Leia was determined to see that an official inquiry was launched that would not be impinged by Palpatine's corrupt sycophants. Her focus over the course of this week had been to build some support to bolster her efforts and six other senators had been brave enough to speak up and take a stand with her on the matter.

She'd hoped for more but it was a start nonetheless, something she could build on.

Six months into her career, Leia's frustrations with the current state of the Senate was becoming increasingly more difficult to control. She'd been aware of it beforehand, her father had warned her exactly what to expect when she'd been elected to represent Alderaan and she'd been fortunate enough to have been mentored by such skilled and experienced politicians as Mon Mothma. But Leia thought that the reality of being a senator must be akin to training to be a soldier; one might think that they had prepared themselves for any eventuality but when they were then eventually pitched into the heart of chaos, they would find that reality was unlike anything they could have ever comprehended.

And, in defiance of conventional wisdom, there had been never been any real likelihood that Leia would have been content to quietly remain in the background of the Senate, even during the early months of her fledgling career; she had arrived on Coruscant with a lot to say and ensured that her voice would be heard loudly and clearly.

If anyone in the Senate had been inclined to dismiss her as little more than some fresh-faced amateur, their preconceptions had been quickly set right.

Leia knew that she hadn't made things easy for herself, that there were senators and systems who sympathised and agreed with the stances she had taken but were wary of public association with her. She'd carved out her niche in the Senate, following the idealistic example of her father and aligning with those that he been close with during his own political career. But whereas Bail Organa had been a calm and considered voice in the Senate, Leia was impulsive and impassioned.

Consequently, her list of adversaries was lengthening.

The likes of Orn Free Taa and Ask Aak had not presented her with any kind of challenge. Leia had learned everything she'd needed to know about those kinds of politicians by watching them debate her father over the years and by now they were so entrenched in corruption that it was almost comical to watch their pathetic attempts to present themselves as liberal voices of reason within the Senate; they were puppets, easily directed and manipulated by Palpatine into toeing the Imperial line.

But senators like Fordia Drask were an entirely different and far more testing proposition.

Drask was methodical and calculating, a formidable political opponent in every sense. She was not a mindless mouthpiece for Palpatine; Drask was intelligent enough to have the full measure of the galaxy and had pledged herself to the Empire at her own volition. A staunch proponent of Imperial rule and a supremely talented orator, Drask held great influence in the Senate and had set her sights on discrediting and ostracising Leia.

But Leia was not minded to retreat away from such a challenge. Her opening exchanges with Drask that week had been the kind of test she'd eagerly anticipated when she made the decision to pursue a career in politics. If she were to be taken seriously, if she were to further the cause of her father and her homeworld, then obstacles like Drask would have to be overcome.

And Leia had yet to be confronted with an opponent that she could not get the better of.

As she'd mused, Leia had reached the gardens. She loved it here, her small but peaceful island of calm amidst the ocean of noise that was Coruscant. An idea of Mon Mothma's, the gardens had been intended as a symbol of peace and unity; representatives of every planet had been invited to contribute a native plant or flower of their homeworld. An exercise in galactic co-operation, Mon's concept had been that the garden would exemplify how little pieces of each world could be brought together to create something that was beautiful, a hopeful metaphor for what could be achieved through politics for the betterment of the galaxy. The result was a vivid clash of colours and scents, of the familiar and the foreign.

Leia would come here whenever she wanted to forget the stresses and rigours of her work. If she felt downbeat and in need of the comfort of her home, she would search out the Arallutes that Alderaan had donated to the garden, sitting quietly on a bench amongst them and allowing the perfume of the flowers to transport her to her favourite terrace back at the palace, the one she liked to sit out on in the early morning light.

Then there were the stranger things that had been planted here, the wild and exotic flowers that hinted at the faraway worlds she had never travelled to and knew so little of.

The gardens were a constant reminder of just how vast the galaxy was, of the billions of beings that Leia was in service to.

Tonight, she made her way to a small fountain that was situated in the centre of the gardens. Perching on the edge of the intricately-carved stone structure, she skimmed the tips of her fingers across the surface of the cold water. She could hear the sound of speeder traffic in the distance, barely audible above the sound of the gentle cascade of water. Here, amidst the quiet, Leia felt far removed from the rest of the planet, from politics and the Senate, from her exasperation at having to deal with the unwanted attentions of someone like Hadlan Amatt.

And her thoughts, as they so often did, turned to the Rebellion.

So far, she'd had to accept a peripheral role in the Alliance. And it irked her, particularly when her father would disappear for days at a time to attend to some pressing matter at some secret base that was hidden somewhere in the galaxy. Bail kept her relatively informed of developments within the organisation, would clue her in on the various plans and operations that he and the rest of the Alliance High Command were overseeing. But she knew too that there were things that he was keeping from her, excluding her from. But her father was adamt that the time was simply not right for her to become too closely involved in the Rebellion now, not when it was so critical that she served the Alliance's cause through her work in the Senate.

Leia was prepared to bide her time for the moment, to play the dutiful double agent in the Senate. But the Alliance was as much her present as it was her future; if she allowed her mind to wander, it would inevitably fall back on matters of the Rebellion. During sessions in the Senate, she found herself sizing up possible recruits, planets and senators that she thought would be open to aiding the cause. In spare moments when she should have been preparing a speech or reading up on the latest proposals and motions that were being debated, Leia would instead prepare proposals for operations and raids that she thought would be of benefit to the Alliance.

She had undergone all of the combat training she'd pleaded with her parents to let her take, she had been steeled in what to expect in an Imperial interrogation if her ties to the Alliance were ever suspected and exposed. Politics was her passion and had been for as long as she could remember, but Leia felt also ready to be a soldier; she simply had far more to offer to the Rebellion than she was being allowed to.

She understood her father's reticence on the subject, why he was so desperate to protect her while he still could.

But Leia had been born with a revolutionary streak that she knew bordered on recklessness.

Winter told her constantly that she was too young to be burdened by so much, too young to cope with the pressures of a political career alongside any further involvement in a galactic insurgency.

But that, Leia argued, had been her destiny all along. Her fate would be shared by the Rebellion; both would either succeed in destroying the Empire or would be snuffed out and eliminated by the dictatorship they so opposed.

A sudden noise close by interrupted her ruminations over the Rebellion.

Leia could sense that she was no longer alone in the garden. Somewhere, hidden amongst the shadows, someone was watching her. She'd lingered for too long, become too preoccupied with her thoughts; it was now past midnight and time for her to return home.

She knew the layout of the gardens well enough that she quickly made it to the gates and into view of her apartment building. Her senses had heightened and she strained to hear whether she had been followed; there was only the soft rustle of the gardens' flora in the gentle wind and the distant sound of speeders from the opposite side of the political quarter.

Quickly crossing the large plaza, Leia considered whether she should comm Winter but ultimately decided not to; given that she was now only a few minutes away from her building and was walking through a heavily-populated residential area, it seemed unlikely that anyone would be stupid enough to approach her now.

But she was sure that she hadn't been alone back at the fountain, that someone had followed her into the gardens. She momentarily wondered whether it might have been Hadlan, perhaps hoping to catch her alone and make some ill-advised romantic advance given his inebriated state. But she quickly discounted that possibility; he'd been in too much of a drunken stupor to have followed her without making his presence obvious. No, it definitely hadn't been Hadlan.

Hugging herself tightly against the chill of the air, Leia silently cursed that she couldn't walk faster in the heels that Winter had talked her into wearing. She hadn't been in the mood to wear anything that was too extravagant but the conservative style of her dress had riled Winter who'd insisted that Leia looked like she was attending a political function rather than a relaxed social gathering. The heels had been non-negotiable; Leia knew that Winter took fashion far more seriously than she did and so hadn't put up much resistance when it came to wearing more impractical footwear than she normally would have preferred.

As she reached the entrance to a narrow alleyway that led behind a popular restaurant that specialised in Felucian cuisine, Leia heard over her shoulder the sudden burst of hurried footsteps and felt two hands clasp tightly and painfully over her shoulders.

Everything happened so fast then that Leia wasn't able to react quickly enough to defend herself. She was dragged roughly into the darkness of the alleyway and jerked sharply against a brick wall, her arms held tightly to her sides by her attacker. She made to scream, to call out for help, but a strong hand clasped firmly over her mouth while a forearm folded against her shoulders, holding her in place.

She couldn't see a face as an Imperial military cap had been pulled down low over her attacker's brow. It was a man; Leia could hear him grunting as he fought against her struggles to escape, could feel and smell his warm, foul-smelling breath against her cheek as he pressed himself against her, preventing her from kicking out against him.

She realised in that moment that she hadn't concealed a weapon somewhere on her person before she'd left for the party and furiously cursed her own stupidity, although the man's strength and the way in which he'd so quickly restrained her would have likely thwarted any attempt she might have made to fight back against him if she had been armed.

He was a human, muttering predominantly in a language she didn't understand. It was broken sporadically by him snarling at her in basic to be quiet and to stop struggling and he began wrenching her forward and then driving her back against the wall, hurting her shoulders and back.

And then, just as suddenly as he had grabbed her, Leia felt the man's hands be wrenched away and, freed from his grasp, she stumbled back against the wall and slid partway down it.

Panicked, she fought to catch her breath and screwed her eyes shut. She could hear the sound of a body close to her being pummelled, the thump of a fist meeting its mark and the resulting grunts of pain. A new voice was speaking in a furious tone but Leia couldn't discern what it was saying. Then followed the sound of scrambling feet and heavy footsteps that faded as someone ran from the alleyway.

Suddenly there was silence.

Leia didn't open her eyes. Her hands were clasped tightly together, held near the neckline of her dress. Her shoulders throbbed in pain and she could feel her legs trembling, threatening to give way beneath her.

"Hey," said a quiet, gentle voice close to her, breaking the quiet. "Hey, it's alright. You're safe now."

Leia felt a hand brush tentatively against her arm and she jerked voluntarily, lashing out blindly with her right hand in the direction of whoever had spoken.

"Hey, Sweetheart, take it easy!"

Whoever this person was, Leia felt them draw back sharply. She opened her eyes hesitantly and found that the man who'd followed and attacked her was gone. In his place was another stranger, tall and slim with thick brown hair and a nose that looked as though it had been broken more than once. He wasn't dressed in military garb; instead he wore a dark blue jacket and black trousers that Leia noticed had a single line of red piping running down the outside of each leg. He was standing back from her with both of his hands outstretched between them, as though he was expecting her to strike and so was primed to defend himself.

Leia's eyes remained locked on the man's for a tense moment, her chest heaving as she took ragged breaths.

But, whoever this person was, she realised that he wasn't a threat. He'd come to her aid, had been the one who'd dragged her attacker away and exacted some measure of retribution with his fists on her behalf. The adrenaline that had been coursing through her since the moment she'd been gragged began to dissipate, her heart rate slowed. The ordeal, one that could have been so immeasurably more devastating had this man not intervened, was over now.

Not taking her eyes from the man's, Leia slowly forced herself to stand and moved away from the wall. The stranger watched apprehensively, seemingly wary that she might suddenly lash out at him.

But Leia was feeling more composed than she probably looked. She was shaken, could feel a burning knot of anger and humiliation in the pit of her stomach; anger at the way in which she'd allowed herself to be ambushed, humiliated that she'd been unable to defend herself and fight back. But she had regained some modicum of control, evaluated the situation at hand and deduced that any threat of danger had passed.

"You okay?" asked the man hesitantly.

Leia nodded and ducked her head. In her peripheral vision, she could sense the man lower his defensive stance and relax having seemingly realised that there was no risk of her attacking him.

"I was walking on the other side of the plaza," he said hurriedly, as though he felt the need to explain why he'd been in the right place at the right time to help her. "I saw what happened, saw that animal grab you and got over here as fast as I could."

Leia didn't respond, simply nodded her head again and avoided the man's gaze.

"Are you alright?" he asked again, hesitantly.. "You need me to go get someone?"

"No," Leia whispered in reply. "No, I'm fine...thank you."

Glancing quickly at the man, she saw that he didn't look convinced that that was true. But he didn't argue with her and instead made to take a tentative step forward. But Leia recoiled involuntarily, betraying her remaining unease.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sweetheart," he murmured gently. "Just let me go get someone to help you - there's a security checkpoint in the building across the way, they can get you to a medical centre-"

"I don't need to go to a medical centre!" Leia snapped, more harshly than she intended. Taking a deep breath, she tried to centre herself. "Really, I'm fine," she said in as steady and convincing a tone as she could muster. "That's my building so I'll be fine by myself now."

The man chuckled sardonically.

"I'm sure you would be," he said. "But you don't honestly think I'm just going to walk away and leave you here alone, do you?"

A flash of annoyance coursed through Leia. As much as she appreciated the help that this man had given her, she wasn't going to stand for flippancy. She _was_ okay now, he had seen to that, and she thought it very unlikely that any risk remained of her being ambushed again in the short walk remaining between the alleyway and her building. The coward who had attacked her surely would have fled by now, hopefully not to pursue another potential victim elsewhere; Leia had to suppress a shudder at that thought.

"Look" she began. "I appreciate your help, I really do. But honestly, I'll be okay now. It will only take me a couple of minutes to get home from here, I don't need supervision."

The man scrutinised her, sizing her up and Leia could feel her cheeks involuntarily flush under his sudden intensity.

"You're really okay, huh?"

Leia nodded.

"Then why are your hands trembling so badly?"

Leia hadn't realised that her hands were trembling. But the man was right and that realisation cracked her facade, only slightly, but enough that Leia had to subtly blink away the tears that were suddenly threatening to fall.

The man took another small step toward her and this time she did not recoil. Allowing herself to look at him again, she saw sympathy in his eyes but did not feel patronised by it. He wasn't looking at her as though she were a victim or like he felt some misplaced sense of masculine pride at having come to her rescue. He said that he had seen the entire incident from the other side of the plaza and so would know that she been taken completely by surprise, had had no opening with which to try and defend herself. She could have, she knew that and she got the strangest feeling that he recognised it too. But irrespective of that, he clearly wanted to ensure that she got home safely, not because he thought she might crumble and break down between the alleyway and her building, but because it was the right thing to do, as much for his own peace of mind as out of concern for her wellbeing.

Slowly he lifted his right arm and as he did so, Leia saw that the knuckles on that hand were bruised and swollen. He gently placed it on her shoulder, careful not to aggravate the places where she'd been hurt.

"Come on, Sweetheart," he said quietly. "Let's get you home."

She nodded and allowed him to lead her out of the alleyway. Once they were back in the open space of the plaza, he glanced around as though he were checking for any signs of danger. Satisfied that the area was deserted aside from the two of them, he kept a respectful distance as they began to walk toward her building but his presence was nonetheless comforting to Leia.

She kept her head bowed as they walked, appreciating that the man was apparently content to walk in silence; her throat had begun to constrict with the effort it was taking not to cry.

As they drew closer to her building, the man's commlink began to emit a shrill beep. Smiling at her apologetically, he quickly took it from his belt and pressed a button to receive the transmission.

"Yeah?"

The being that answered him could not have been human; it spoke in loud barks and growls that the man clearly understood.

"And I'll be right there," he said. More growls followed and the man grimaced. "Look Chewie," he replied sharply, "just go back to the ship and I'll meet you there, alright? I had something to do and I'm almost done with it so I won't be much longer."

His associate was clearly not placated and was in the midst of snarling a response when the man shut his commlink off.

"Sorry about that," he said to Leia with a smirk. "Word of advice though: never work with a Wookie. Honestly, I get nagged more by him than I would if I was married."

Leia laughed quietly. _That's a strange arrangement_ , she thought; Wookies were among the most oppressed species in the galaxy, it was a very rare to come across them these days given that their planet had been occupied and enslaved by the Empire. And yet this man apparently worked with one.

By now they had reached her building and stopped outside. Through the reinforced glass walls of the lobby, she could see a pair of uniformed security guards on patrol. In sight of her home, or, at least, her home away from Alderaan, Leia knew that she was safe again.

"Well," said the man. "I guess this it."

Raising her eyes to meet his, Leia smiled faintly and nodded. She still didn't quite trust herself to be able to speak.

"You sure you're going to be alright?" he asked again, his genuine concern for her evident in his tone. "You should tell them what happened," he continued, inclining his head in the direction of the security guards. "That creep that attacked you was an Imperial, you can't let them get away with trying things like that just because they wear a uniform."

He was right but Leia didn't think she would tell anyone, besides possibly Winter, about what had happened to her. Or, worse still, what _might_ have happened had this man not intervened when he had.

Leia realised that she hadn't even asked him for his name. And he in turn had offered no indication that he recognised her from the HoloNet news networks.

They stood in silence for a moment and Leia wondered whether he could see in her eyes the tumult of emotions that she was striving to conceal from him. He'd placed his hands inside the pockets of his jacket and swayed slightly back and forth on his feet, apparently content to wait for her to instigate their parting.

Leia knew that it would difficult to convey just how grateful she was for what this man had done for her, for the bravery and selflessness he'd acted with. So she settled on the simplest possible way of expressing it and hoped that the earnestness with which she spoke the words would suffice.

"Thank you."

He smiled warmly and replied just as simply.

"You're welcome."

With an effort, wishing that she could say more, but fearful that doing so would shatter her fragile composure, Leia turned away from him and walked the short distance to the building's entrance. But, before she could go through it, the man called out and Leia faced him once more.

"That guy," he began tentatively. "He didn't – I mean...I got to him before-". He broke off and looked down at his boots, scuffing the toes of them against the ground. Leia had a feeling that she knew what he wanted to ask and so understood why he was struggling to arrive at a delicate enough way of doing so.

Finally he sighed and looked again into her eyes.

"I got there in time, didn't I?" he asked. "I mean, I know I got there quick, and I know he hurt you...but he didn't get a chance to-"

"No," Leia cut him off. "No...he didn't."

As much as she hated already to think about it, to acknowledge what that monster's intentions had so obviously been, she recognised that this man needed to know that he'd done enough to prevent her from befalling the very worst kind of harm.

He exhaled in relief. And then the smile was back and the awkwardness was gone, as though he'd never asked the question.

"G'night Sweetheart," he said quietly.

Leia turned walked through the lobby without acknowledging either of the guards, hoping that by doing so she would avoid offering them any clues as to what had happened to her, given she must have looked conspicuously disheveled.

When the elevator arrived, she stepped inside and braced herself against the wall, taking a shuddering breath. It felt like an eternity now since she'd left the party, since she'd sat by the fountain, fretting about matters in the Senate and of the Rebellion. She wanted desperately to reach her apartment now and just sleep, to simply forget everything that had happened.

As the doors began to slide closed, Leia looked across the expanse of the lobby and saw that the man was still standing outside the building, watching her, apparently content to wait until she'd disappeared from his sight before he left.

Once the doors had shut and the elevator began to ascend, her resolve finally crumbled and her tears fell.


	2. Chapter 2

_One note for this chapter: anyone who knows the EU will probably guess the character that Han and Chewie discuss here. Rest assured, Han's motivations in the early part of this story are not romantic ones, though it might seem like that._

 _2_

The first thing that Han Solo became cognisant of when he awoke was pain - intense, nauseating pain.

At some point during the night, he'd somehow managed to contort himself in his sleep so that his right hand was pinned beneath his torso, his ribs pressing into the bloody and broken skin of his knuckles.

Cursing, he pulled his hand free and swung it back and forth frantically, as he might have done if he'd been burned. The action had absolutely no effect in easing his pain and now that he was awake, Han had no idea how he'd managed to sleep through it; he'd damaged his knuckles before but it had never hurt like this before. What the hell had he punched, a brick wall?

And then it all started to come back to him.

He'd gone to the political quarter, following up on the lead that Demlock had given him. There'd been a girl...a girl had been attacked and Han had intervened, had dragged the animal that had been clawing at her away and then just thrown his fist at any part of the creep that he could get at.

Wincing, Han opened and closed his fist. He found closing it dulled the pain slightly, not enough so that it wasn't still agony but it at least didn't feel like broken glass had been shoved under his skin and was grating against the bone as it did when his fist was open.

He would have to raid whatever store of painkillers he hopefully had stored on the ship.

Still in a haze of near-wakefulness, he clambered haphazardly out of bed and immediately stumbled over a boot that he'd carelessly cast aside on the floor of his cabin when he'd taken it off. He fell toward his desk and instinctively threw out his right arm to brace himself, his fist still clenched. When it collided with the heavy wooden desktop, Han thought he might just pass out.

"Kest!" he hissed, drawing his hand in close to his stomach and hopping inanely on the spot. Supremely grateful that his partner was not present to witness his pitiful moans of pain, Han ambled toward his cabin's fresher unit, careful now to avoid the clothes he'd left strewn across the floor the previous night.

He turned the tap at the sink and ran his knuckles under cold water. The blood that had dried began to crack and wash away, allowing Han to examine the full extent of the damage that had been done. The skin on each knuckle was broken quite badly and had bruised dark purple around the edges of each cut but, while his hand was still slightly swollen, Han was satisfied that he hadn't broken any bones.

With his left hand, he rummaged through a small cabinet that he'd recently installed on the wall. Pushing aside bottles of shampoo and liquid soaps, he found the small plastic vial of yellow pills that he vaguely recalled storing in his fresher to keep close at hand should a situation like the one he was currently in arose. Twisting off the lid with one hand was not a straightforward task but he eventually managed to extract two pills and tipped them into his mouth, swallowing them dry and hoping that they would take effect quickly.

Turning the water off, Han reached for a clean towel from a nearby shelf and wrapped it carefully around his hand before leaving his cabin and making his way slowly to the ship's main hold.

The scene he was met by told him that Chewie had had a good night once they'd parted ways. Han hadn't seen his co-pilot upon returning to the _Falcon_ from his little venture into Coruscant's political quarter but, upon finding a number of discarded takeout cartons strewn across the Dejarik table, he deduced that Chewie had paid a visit to his favourite Nikto eatery on his way back to the ship and then proceeded to consume what would have been enough food to sustain Han for three days in one sitting.

Picking disgustedly through the mess, Han mentally vowed that he was not going to clean any of it up.

He continued on to the cockpit, finding the Wookie there. It seemed Chewie was trying to fix a faulty macrofuser, most likely the one that had nearly singed off most of his fur when it had malfunctioned a couple of days earlier.

Without a word, Han dropped into the pilot's seat and leaned back, closing his eyes against the bright early morning sunlight that was streaming through the transparisteel viewport.

For a moment they sat in near-silence, interrupted only by the irritating noise of metal scraping against metal as Chewie fiddled with the macrofuser clasped between his large paws, holding it close to his face so that he could inspect his work as it progressed.

Han was content to allow the quiet to linger, in no doubt that an interrogation was forthcoming.

And he was right. After only a couple of minutes, Chewie abandoned his tinkering with the macrofuser and gently laid it upon the control console before him. Even with his eyes closed tightly, Han could envisage the Wookie folding his arms with that infuriatingly superior look on his face that he usually got whenever they had the type of conversation that was about to take place.

" _Where did you sneak off to last night?"_ Chewie growled.

Han sighed, knowing that his co-pilot most likely already had a fairly accurate idea what the answer to that question would be.

"I told you last night on the comm," he replied simply. "I had something that I needed to do."

" _Like what?"_

"Something personal," answered Han. "It was nothing Chewie, there was just someplace I needed to go, something I had to check out...took no time at all and I was back here before you were. And it's not like I thought you'd notice that I'd gone anywhere seeing as you were having so much fun at the Sabacc tables."

Chewie huffed in annoyance, clearly not placated, and Han finally reopened his eyes, finding that his co-pilot was shaking his head and muttering darkly to himself. If he were honest with himself, and he would never admit this to Chewie, Han understood why the Wookie was so annoyed; there was a small part of Han that was annoyed with himself for having kept up this search for so long, for being unable to just let go of the past and move on with his life.

But, he reminded himself, it wasn't as though he was forcing Chewie to follow him on that search; Chewie was there of his own volition and, as Han had made clear countless times over the years, was free to go his own way any time that he liked.

Not that Han wanted him to leave; having spent nearly a decade in the Wookie's company, he'd gotten used to having the furball around and valued him as a friend as much as he did a partner. But that didn't mean that Han was willing to just forget everything that had compelled him to venture to Coruscant. There were things he needed to know, questions that he needed to have answered, before he could ever begin to really put certain facets of his past behind him. But Han had no desire to go over that with Chewie again, not when such a discussion would inevitably lead to an argument.

 _"If you do not want to tell me where you went and why, that is your business,"_ said Chewie, breaking the uneasy silence. _"But I want you to promise me that you were telling the truth when you said that you wanted to come here to look for work...tell me that you did not bring us here because of_ _ **her**_ _."_

Han knew that he would have to tread carefully now. He was a good liar but if there was one being in this galaxy that could always see through his falsehoods, it was Chewie. So he knew better than to be dishonest now, knew that it was time to lay all of his cards upon the table and hope that Chewie would be understanding rather than angry.

"Look, pal-" he began, which was apparently enough to confirm Chewie's misgivings that Han had had an ulterior motive for coming to Coruscant. Cursing in his native tongue, the Wookie rose to his feet and stormed from the cockpit.

Although he was initially tempted to let Chewie stew on his anger for the moment, Han was painfully aware that this particular issue was one that had festered between them both for far too long, that he was taking Chewie's loyalty and patience with him for granted. Rising from his own chair, Han padded barefoot down the access corridor and found Chewie in the main hold, gathering the mess he'd made the previous night and carrying it through to the recycling unit in the ship's galley.

Seating himself at the technical station, Han checked that the towel he'd wrapped around his injured hand was still secure while he waited for Chewie to finish up.

Once the Wookie had cleaned away all of the debris of the previous night's meal, Chewie sat at the Dejarik table and crossed his long arms across his chest, directing his gaze toward anything but his partner.

And it dawned on Han that this time it might not be so easy for him to make things right, that perhaps he'd now told one lie too many and pushed his luck that little bit too far.

"I'm sorry Chewie," he began quietly. "I thought it was a good lead this time...honestly, I wouldn't have brought us here otherwise." He took a deep breath before launching into an explanation that he hoped would not make the situation any worse.

"You remember when we did that job on Ansion about a month back? When we ran into Demlock? Well, he told me that he'd seen her here a few weeks ago, somewhere in the political quarter. I didn't think anything of it at first, I've followed so many bad leads that I was about ready to give up on ever finding her...but then I figured that maybe she's working a job here, that maybe it was worth checking out. I was only going to go over there once, I swear, and if I didn't find her then that would be it, I was going to just forget about the whole thing."

Chewie sighed and shook his head again in frustration. His expression looked almost pitying which Han didn't appreciate.

" _What is it going to take to get you to give this up, Han?"_ asked Chewie in a dejected tone. _"She lied to you, she conned you and left without looking back. Why can't you just let it go...why can't you let_ ** _her_** _go?"_

Han did not reply immediately and instead distracted himself by absent-mindedly flicking some of the switches on the panel before him. He hated when Chewie asked him questions like that, the ones that made him feel like the pathetic idiot he probably was for refusing to give up this pursuit. It had been more than a year of searching, seeking out any information that might help him to get the answers he craved. It wasn't as though he didn't want to move on - he wanted that more than anything. But Han knew that doubt and bitterness would eat away at him if he didn't at least try to find her, if he never got some kind of explanation for why she'd done the things she had.

" _Han?"_ said Chewie quietly. _"You are better than this, better than her-"_

"I don't wanna have this conversation with you again," Han snapped. "Look Chewie, I get why you're mad at me and I've apologised for not being straight with you about why I wanted to come here. So let's put this whole thing behind us and just get on with our lives, alright?"

Judging by Chewie's scowl, the way he bared his fangs in anger, he was in no mood to simply move on.

" _No, it is not alright!"_ he growled. _"Move on to what exactly? The next time someone mentions that they might have seen her, or claims to know where she might be, and you go chasing after her again? This has to end, Han, we have more important things to worry about than a woman who obviously wants nothing to do with you!"_

"Look, just shut up will you?" Han retorted, his own anger matching Chewie's now. "We've been here for a day, that's all. It's not like we've got someplace better to be."

" _Are you being serious?"_ Chewie roared, rising to his feet in fury. _"We have a price on both of our heads, Han! Have you forgotten that or are you choosing to pretend otherwise so that you can continue to chase after that damned woman?"_

"No," replied Han, pointing forcefully at Chewie, unwilling to countenance this line of the Wookie's argument. " _I've_ got the price on _my_ head - it's _me_ that owes a debt to Jabba. You're only in trouble through association and I've told you enough times now that, if it comes to it, I'm not taking you down with me. It's my problem to deal with Chewie, not yours!"

" _We are in this together,"_ bit back Chewie. _"I do not know what more I can do or say to make you understand this, but we are partners...your problems are my problems. And do not bother telling me again that I can leave whenever I want because I disagree with something that you have done. I was with you when you dumped that blasted shipment and did not cut my losses and run then so I am not going anywhere now. And if I did leave, we both know that you would not have a hope of getting out of this mess with Jabba alive."_

Han seethed silently, smarting that Chewie knew him well enough to guess exactly what his argument would have been. On the last point, he had to grudgingly concede that Chewie was right; left completely to his own devices, Han was an accident waiting to happen. He wasn't stupid enough to admit that aloud, but it was true nonetheless.

"Alright," he ground out through gritted teeth. "Then I guess you're sticking around and I've admitted that I was wrong... _again_. Now, we done here?"

" _Not quite,"_ answered Chewie. _"What did you do to your hand?"_

"Huh?" Chewie motioned at Han's fist, wrapped in the towel and still tucked in protectively close to his body.

"Oh, that" he chuckled. "No big deal, just had a bit of a run in over in the political quarter last night...saw some creep grab a girl and drag her into an alleyway so I stepped in." He shrugged self-deprecatingly. "You think this looks bad, you should have gotten a look at the guy's face once I was through with him."

It amused Chewie that Han somehow always managed to find trouble whenever he was out of his partner's sight. At least this time he'd done something worthwhile, although Chewie was reluctant to be too effusive in praise; in spite of his considerable ego, Han was surprisingly modest when it came to receiving recognition for doing anything that might be considered brave or selfless.

" _That was surprisingly heroic of you...I am impressed."_

"Hey!" chided Han good-naturedly. If there was one thing that annoyed him about his co-pilot, it was Chewie's steadfast conviction that Han was a better man than he cared to admit. Not that Han necessarily thought otherwise; he knew that he was a pretty good guy, he just didn't see any reason to broadcast that to rest of the galaxy, particularly when his chosen line of work was not a profession in which good and honest beings achieved much success. Besides, he really didn't see his actions of the previous night as heroic, just common decency.

"Ah, it was nothing," he insisted, suddenly feeling self-conscious under Chewie's respectful gaze. "I only did what any decent person would have done. And I'm suffering for it," he smirked, indicating his injured hand.

Chewie chuckled but didn't push the matter any further. He was proud of Han, gratified that, as much as his captain could so often be a stubborn and argumentative fool, he was unquestionably a good man, one who could always be counted on to do the right thing when he needed to.

Which made it all the more frustrating that Han was content to waste his life chasing after someone who had so obviously regarded him as wholly dispensable.

"Look, I'm sorry pal," said Han quietly. "I'm sorry for not telling you why I brought us here and, I promise, no more secrets or lies from now on."

He held up his left hand as though taking an oath.

"I'll talk everything through with you. I mean it Chewie, you get the last word from now on, we won't do anything without your say-so."

Chewie knew Han well enough to know that he was being sincere now, that he understood why Chewie was angry and wanted to make amends. The problem, however, was that Chewie also knew it didn't matter how earnest Han's intentions were in this moment; the next time he got the slightest hint of a lead to continue this hopeless chase, he would follow it and the two of them would invariably end up back where they were now. It was a contentious matter, one that had become a real issue in their partnership over the last year but Chewie was adamant that they would both eventually find a way to resolve it.

For now, he simply inclined his head to indicate that he was prepared to accept Han's apology.

Rising to his feet, Han stretched with a groan and yawned.

"Glad we got that straightened out. Now, I'm gonna go shower and look for something to bind this with properly," he said, motioning to his injured hand. "After that, why don't we go to that market you like, the one in the upper levels, and stock up on some supplies, get some fresh food? Then we can figure out what we're going to do next, get off of Coruscant and find some real work."

Chewie nodded his agreement and Han made to leave the main hold and return to his cabin.

" _Han?"_ Chewie said quietly, hoping to avoid any further confrontation but needing to say one more thing.

"Yeah?" Han stopped and turned back to face his co-pilot.

" _At some point you have to know when to give up,"_ he growled quietly, knowing that Han understood exactly what he was referring to. _"I know you do not like to hear this but it is true...you cannot spend the rest of your life chasing a ghost."_

"I've told you before not to call her that!" Han snapped in reply. "She's not a ghost Chewie, she's not dead."

Having not lain eyes on her in more than a year and relied upon the second hand accounts of others who thought they _might_ have seen her somewhere or had heard of her possible whereabouts, neither of them knew for certain whether that was true. But if Han had chosen to believe that she was still alive and well somewhere in the galaxy then Chewie knew better than to argue the point any further.

Once Han had left the hold, Chewie made his way to the ship's galley, in need of a far stronger mug of caf than he normally would have enjoyed given the manner in which his day had begun. He hoped that the final words of their exchange wouldn't cause Han to go into one of his sullen moods that made it almost unbearable to be in his company.

Setting the caf dispenser to brew, Chewie braced his lanky frame against the galley counter. He wondered for a moment where life might take him and Han next; regardless of whatever now lay ahead of them both, the Wookie knew that he would have to find a way of focusing Han's mind on finally finding some well-paying work, on getting rid of the debt they owed to Jabba the Hutt.

But he also knew that achieving that task would not be straightforward, not when Han was so easily distracted by his futile pursuit of an explanation for the betrayal he'd suffered a year earlier.

As he filled his large tankard with caf, Chewie once again quietly cursed the day that Han had first laid eyes upon that blasted woman.


	3. Chapter 3

_3_

Leia had barely slept.

Having allowed herself to begin to cry in the elevator, she'd been gasping in wrenching sobs by the time she'd reached her apartment. She'd been deliberately quiet in her movements, determined not to wake Winter, desperate to avoid being asked or made to talk about her night. Having wanted so achingly to banish it all from her mind, to expunge all traces of it from her memory, she'd simply collapsed onto her bed in the dress she had worn to the party and wept silently, waiting for sleep.

When it had come, it was fitful and restless.

Rising just before dawn, Leia had showered and changed into her favourite nightgown. In doing do, in discarding the dress and cleansing her skin under the scalding water, she thought that she could remove every trace of the trauma she'd suffered.

Not that she wanted to think of it in that way, a trauma. Leia Organa was not a victim; she simply would not countenance any situation where she would allow herself to feel that way.

But then she'd begun to remember things, vivid fragments of what had happened; strong hands gripping her shoulders tightly, clamping over her mouth; her upper back and shoulders colliding painfully with an unforgiving wall, over and over again; the awful feel and smell of warm breath against cheek, too close. Every flashback would chip away at the resolve she fought an internal battle to cling too, claw at her defences until her hands would begin to shake and tears would threaten to fall again.

She'd sat in the near-light alone and cried softly.

But then it had struck her, simply yet clearly; in order to cope, Leia realised that she would first need to conquer.

So, for a time, she'd decided to allow the bad feeling to creep in, to take hold, but only temporarily. Leia moved out on the apartment balcony, embracing the crisp early morning air against her skin, and letting the gamut of emotions she'd run through the course of the night churn in her stomach; anger, humiliation, sorrow, relief. She'd grit her teeth, clenched her fists, and endured.

And, then once the sun had fully risen, she'd simply decided that that was enough.

And she felt centred, restored. Having confronted all of the bad feeling, controlled and conquered it, now she could heal.

In the worst experiences, there were lessons. And Leia would learn hers; she'd been naive last night, needlessly careless. She should never have walked back to the apartment alone, should have commed ahead to let Winter now that she was on her way. That would not happen again. Never again would she allow herself to be in that position, made to feel so vulnerable. Her anger turned fully toward where she knew it should rightfully directed, toward that pathetic excuse for a human being that had attacked her; it was because of such monsters that she was so steadfastly determined to see this galaxy healed, made safer.

In the quiet and the calm of morning, Leia felt newly empowered, her purpose reinvigorated.

From her favourite cushioned chair on the balcony, she listened to the distant drone of Coruscant's traffic lanes, to the far-off voices of the building's other tenants that had ventured out onto their own balconies to savour this relative tranquillity that was so rare on such a cosmopolitan planet.

This was Leia's favourite time of day. Now was when she liked to think, to prepare. Whatever had gone before was past; ahead lay a new day full of opportunity and possibility. Here on Coruscant she would normally use this time to compose a speech she planned to make, consider how to approach a new motion in the Senate, strategise how she might best serve the cause of the Rebel Alliance.

Mornings were so much more sedate on Alderaan. She'd read on her bedroom terrace, venture down to the palace gardens, often enjoy breakfast with her mother. There, she didn't have to preoccupy herself with fulfilling the role of politician or rebel if she didn't want to; she could simply be herself for a brief time, a young woman who felt truly at peace amongst the natural peace and beauty of her homeworld.

She looked forward to being back there, to being home again.

Last night had been a truly awful experience. But as well as the worst of humanity, she'd also experienced the best of it.

Her thoughts turned to the man who'd come to her aid. She contemplated how fortunate she'd been that of all the billions of beings on this planet who could have witnessed her ordeal, it had been one prepared to act so selflessly. And afterwards, he'd been kind and compassionate; he'd offered a reassuring presence while maintaining a respectful distance, had insisted on seeing her safely back to her building.

As long as there were beings like that in this galaxy then Leia thought that there was still hope for its future.

She hadn't even thought to ask for his name. It had taken so much of her willpower not to break down in front of him that she hadn't trusted herself to speak. And he had not thought to introduce himself; he'd simply carried out his good deed and said goodnight at the building door.

Leia knew that the chances of ever seeing him again, of having the opportunity to thank him, were incredibly remote.

But whoever he was, wherever he'd gone and might end up, she would always be gratefully indebted to him.

She'd been thinking about him, curled up in the large chair and absent-mindedly running the tip of her manicured right thumbnail between her teeth, when the door to the balcony slid open and she was joined by Winter who was carrying two glasses that were each filled with a steaming amber-coloured liquid.

"Tea with Chandrilan honey," Winter announced, gently placing Leia's drink on the table and taking her own seat in the other chair. This was something of a routine for the two of them; they would usually awake at the same time but Winter would give Leia her time to herself, to be alone and think. Then she would make Leia's favourite drink to start the day and the two would sit together and talk, though there were some mornings that they were content to just sit in comfortable silence.

This morning, Winter wanted to talk.

"So," she began, "I take it last night didn't go well." At Leia's quizzical look, Winter elaborated. "I heard you crying," she explained. "I could tell you were trying to be quiet so I guessed you didn't want company."

So Leia hadn't been as discreet as she'd thought and hoped. Though she suspected that there was no way of avoiding having to explain everything that had happened, for now she simply shrugged her shoulders and remained silent.

"Was the party really that bad?" persisted Winter. "Did Hadlan do something?"

In truth, Hadlan and the party hadn't even entered her mind since last night. After leaving the function room she'd been lost in thought about things that were so much more important, the challenges facing her in both the Senate and the Rebellion, that Hadlan and the inconvenience of him being completely infatuated with her had faded into utter irrelevance.

She shook her head in answer to Winter's questions.

"Well something happened," said Winter as she blew softly on her own tea in an attempt to cool it. "You never cry."

That was mostly true. While it was wrong to say that Leia _never_ cried, it did take a lot to force her to tears. Emotional impassivity was a strength in politics and Leia had adopted the attitude that it was better to deal with the things that angered or upset her through action rather than cry about them. The last time she'd cried had been upon hearing that her first tutor, a kindly elder woman who used to share mints with Leia during lessons, had peacefully passed away. And that had been months ago.

It rankled with her a little now that Winter seemed to think that a boy could bring her to tears. If she could engage in debates with the likes of Fordia Drask, endure the taunts and insults of rival senators who viewed her as little more than an overly idealistic upstart with a big mouth, then Leia could tolerate and deal with the unwanted attractions of Hadlan.

So Leia simply shrugged again, hoping in vain that Winter would let the matter go.

"Leia?" said Winter quietly, placing her tea back on the table and leaning toward her friend. "Leia, what happened?"

Leia could sense Winter's rising concern, the dawning realisation that whatever had happened was a lot more serious than she'd initially assumed. But it didn't lessen Leia's resistance to a discussion of it; as far as she was concerned, the incident was finished and, over the course of the restless night, she'd confronted and dealt with her feelings about it. It had been terrible but nonetheless could have been far worse had help not arrived when it had.

"Really Winter, I'm fine" she insisted quietly. She reached for her tea and as she did so heard a sharp intake of breath from across the small circular table.

"Leia, your shoulder!" Winter gasped.

Too late, Leia realised that she'd inadvertently exposed the purple and blue bruises caused by her being shoved repeatedly against the wall. The thin shoulder straps of her nightgown couldn't conceal them and she hadn't thought to put on a robe.

Sipping at her tea, savouring the sweetness of the honey, she tried to ignore Winter's alarmed expression. There was no avoiding this discussion now, though Leia was determined not to go into any great detail.

"It's nothing," she said quietly, her gaze fixed determinedly on the Coruscant skyline.

"That is _not_ nothing, Leia," hissed Winter, pointing at the bruises. "What the hell happened at that party?"

"Nothing," replied Leia, beginning to feel agitated. "Nothing happened at the party."

They sat in a brief and silent standoff. Clutching her tea lightly in her left hand, Leia gently ran her right over her shoulder. She hadn't paid much thought to the physical marks left behind by the ordeal; she'd been too preoccupied with the emotional fallout.

Winter took a deep breath, as though steeling herself. She reached across to lay her hand on Leia's, gently atop her bruised shoulder.

"Talk to me, Leia," she implored quietly. "Please."

Her worry, her unconcealed fear, touched Leia. She could talk to Winter about this, knew that she _should_ talk to her; Winter was so much more than a friend and senatorial aide. They'd been raised almost like sisters, had become each other's closest ally and confidante. Perhaps, Leia reasoned, talking out loud about the previous night would prove an important step in continuing to move past and forget it.

She sighed, almost in resignation, and felt Winter gently squeeze her hand, offering reassurance.

"I was on my way back here," she began quietly. "It wasn't too late so I decided to walk back, alone...there's been so much going on, so many things happening lately, that I just wanted some time to think. So I went to the gardens. I wasn't there long, I was so close to the building that I didn't think there was any point in comming you to meet me. But I knew someone was there, someone was watching me, but once I was back in the plaza I thought I would be safe."

By now, Winter's left hand had slowly and involuntarily moved upward to clasp the pendant on her necklace, a habit of her's in moments of stress and tension. Her grip on Leia's hand had tightened slightly.

"Honestly Winter, _nothing_ happened, not like you're thinking," she insisted, turning in her seat to face her friend. She knew the conclusions to which Winter's mind had inevitably jumped and needed to allay them, now, before she continued.

"He grabbed me and pulled me into an alleyway," she went on. "I struggled, tried to fight back. But before he could do anything, _really do_ anything, someone else got to us...they dragged him off and then walked me home. And that was it."

Winter shook her head, her mouth gaping and tears visible in the corner of her eyes. Having told the story in as concise a way as she could manage, Leia now just wanted to assuage her friend's concerns, to ensure that Winter knew and understood and, most importantly, believed, that Leia was okay and wasn't purposely hiding anything. That was something that Leia had a tendency to do in both her personal and professional life, leave out any details of a story that she thought might upset her family, closest friends and colleagues. But all it achieved was convincing those around her that there was always more to tell than what she was willing to say, that she was burying things beneath the surface. So they were always sceptical.

This time, Leia knew that she couldn't leave any room for doubts to persist in Winter's mind.

"Winter, I promise you that I am alright," she said in a voice so low that it sounded like a rasping whisper. "Nothing happened...I was crying when I got home but that was just because I was in shock, I've been up all night thinking about it, going over it all in my head, and now I am fine."

A single tear fell from each of Winter's eyes and Leia's stomach twisted viscerally. She wanted more than anything for her friend to believe her now.

"Winter, _please_ ," she implored, her own voice beginning to tremble with emotion.

Their eyes locked, hands clasped over the tabletop, and Leia silently beseeched Winter to believe her, to trust her.

Finally, after what felt like an age of tense silence in which much was communicated without a word being spoken, Winter simply nodded her head.

"Leia," she said quietly, her voice heavy with emotion. With their hands still clasped together, Winter softly ran her thumbs gently over Leia's knuckles. "Wha-how...how did it happen?"

"Because I was careless," answered Leia shortly. "I should have commed you or the security detail, either had one of you come to meet me or just let you know to expect me."

"Why didn't you?" asked Winter.

Leia shrugged slightly in reply, almost guiltily. "I didn't have a blaster with me either which is inexcusable...like I said, I just wanted some time to myself to think. And it was still early and I was so close to the apartment that I didn't think I'd need a chaperone."

"Who was he?" Winter asked urgently. "The animal that did this - did you recognise him?"

Leia shook her head. "No," she murmured. "He was an Imperial officer, that's all I know."

"An Imperial?" gasped Winter, her mind quickly calculating the implications of an Imperial officer attacking a senator that had been so outspoken in her criticism of and opposition to the Empire.

"I know what you are thinking," said Leia quickly, guessing the path down which Winter's thoughts were travelling. "And no, I don't think that I was targeted specifically - if that had been the case then I'd imagine that he would have attacked me in the gardens rather than wait until I was walking through the plaza where the risk was so much higher that he'd be seen."

Winter could see the logic in Leia's deductions and thought that they were most likely correct. The most probable explanation for what had happened was that it had been an act of despicable cowardice and opportunism; the scum responsible had seen a young woman walking alone at night and attempted to take advantage of that.

Thank the Gods that someone else had been there to witness it and go to Leia's aid.

"What about the person that helped you?" she asked. "Who was it?"

Leia shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know," she quietly admitted. "I never asked him for his name."

She felt increasingly frustrated with herself for not having done so. On another night she would have, she wouldn't have allowed herself to walk away from him without knowing to whom she owed such gratitude. Before her musings had been interrupted by Winter's arrival on the balcony, she'd had the stirrings of an insane thought that she should at least attempt to track him down, for no other reason than that he was exactly the sort or being that the Rebellion needed more of in its ranks. But such a thought wasn't one worth pursuing.

And given that the most distinctive physical attribute of his that she could immediately recall was that his nose looked as though it had been broken, she knew that she had no hope of ever finding him on this planet.

"That's not like you," said Winter, her voice still slightly shaky. "Normally you can't take a skycab without asking someone on boardfor their life story."

Leia laughed, the first time she had done so since the previous night. It felt good, something of a relief.

"There has to be something you remember about him," Winter went on. "I understand your emotions must have been all over the place at the time but if he walked you back to the building then surely you spoke to each other...you must have noticed _something_ about him."

"What does it matter?" asked Leia. "I thanked him, it's not as though I'm ever going to see him again."

Winter reclined back in her chair in thought, seemingly relaxed enough now that Leia was okay to resume drinking her tea.

"I don't know," she said. "It's just, if it had been me, I think I would have at least liked to have known his name. It just seems...appropriate, you know?" She shook her head. "Perhaps not, maybe that's stupid."

"No," replied Leia quickly. "It's not stupid."

She strained her memory for something, anything she could remember about him. Everything had happened so quickly, her state-of-mind and emotions had been so tumultuous since she'd parted ways with him that it was almost like constructing a puzzle, trying to organise all of the broken fragments into the right order.

She remembered brown hair...brown eyes...broken nose. None of which were very helpful.

"I think," she said slowly , "that he might have had a scar...on his chin. It was dark so I'm not sure, it could have just been a shadow."

"What about his clothes?" asked Winter. "Was he in a uniform? Maybe he works in the political quarter."

Leia thought back. He'd worn a dark blue jacket, nothing remarkable. But then she did recall something.

"His trousers," she said. "I remember that they had some sort of...piping...running down the sides. At the time I might have thought that that was significant, that there was something familiar about it."

"Was the piping red or gold?"

"Gold."

"A Corellian Bloodstripe," deduced Winter. "That's a military honour, very rare and _very_ prestigious - I remember them coming up in our studies a few years ago."

Leia would never not be grateful for her friend's holographic memory, Winter's unique ability to remember and recall even the most minute details of her past; if the Corellian Bloodstripe had indeed ever been been spoken about during the long hours of their shared education, and Leia didn't doubt the accuracy of Winter's recollections, then it had to have been only a fleeting mention, nothing that had gone into any great detail otherwise Leia imagined that she would have remembered it more clearly herself.

"So he's Corellian then," noted Winter.

"Well, that narrows the search," returned Leia in jest, smiling; Corellia was among the most densely-populated planets in the known galaxy and given Corellians' penchant for spacefaring, their population had spread throughout the universe. Leia would have wagered that there were tens of thousands of them on Coruscant, the cultural and political epicentre of the Core Worlds.

"If he has the Bloodstripe then it might," replied Winter. "Like I said, they are very rare. There won't be many Corellians running around the universe that have one."

Leia considered that for a moment.

"There was one more thing," she recalled. "He had a commlink, someone called him...this is going to sound ridiculous but he spoke with a Wookie and told me that they worked together, that the Wookie nagged him more than a wife would."

She'd remembered that because it had been one of the only real moments of levity that she'd experienced after the incident. It had eased the tension of the moment, even made her laugh in spite of the despair she'd felt at the time.

"He works with a Wookie?" asked Winter. "That's a...strange arrangement."

"That's exactly what I thought," replied Leia. "If I hadn't heard them talking over his comm, I'd find it hard it to believe myself."

"So he's Corellian, has done _something_ that was brave enough to earn his planet's highest military honour, and he works with a Wookie." Winter smirked. "He sounds like a very interesting man."

"Who I will more than likely never see again," retorted Leia. "What does any of this matter, Winter? "

Winter shrugged as she finished her tea. "I don't suppose it does," she said as she placed her empty glass on the table. "But I think that, if I were you, I'd just like to be able to put a name to the face...that's all."

She stood and stretched. "You need to pack your things," she told Leia. "I meant to tell you last night that Antilles has got us a departure slot for just after midday - apparently he's just as eager to get back home as you must be."

Leia was relieved, both at having moved past the conversation about the Corellian and at the prospect of leaving Coruscant so imminently. But the realisation that she'd soon be back on Alderaan brought with it a fresh concern, one that she hadn't thought to consider until now.

Rising from the comfort of her chair, she gathered her thick hair into a long braid that she hung over her shoulder; she hadn't dried her hair following her shower and so it was still damp. Moving back into the apartment, she found Winter seated on the curved sofa, taking in the morning news bulletin that was being broadcast on the large viewscreen. Leia saw that the current story was detailing the previous day's debate in the Senate and watched as an image of herself gesticulated angrily while berating a political adversary.

"You made quite the impression in the debate yesterday," said Winter wryly without turning around. "So much so that Senator Ferrio is rumoured to be considering putting you under official investigation as an agitator."

Yat Ferrio was the spineless Neimoidian chair of the Senate Ethics Career. As corrupt a politician as there was on Coruscant, Ferrio was firmly in the pocket of the Emperor's inner circle and had taken on the task of ensuring that Leia's voice within the Senate was quieted, her campaign of resistance against the Empire quashed.

Without replying, Leia walked to the viewscreen and turned it off.

"Winter, there's something we need to discuss," she said.

"There's no need," replied Winter. At the quizzical look on Leia's face, she continued. "I know what you are going to ask of me." She left the sofa and moved into the kitchenette. Leia waited, watched as she retrieved a datapad and tapped at the screen.

"You want me to promise not to tell your father about what happened last night, don't you?"

So she had guessed what Leia would ask of her. It wasn't a surprise; the two of them had known each for so long, were so close, that at times it did feel as though they shared some sort of telepathic connection.

"You know how he is, Winter," she explained without confirming that Winter was indeed correct in her assumption of knowing exactly what Leia wanted to ask. "You know how things have been between him and I lately, he's worried enough about my involvement with the Rebellion...if he found out about last night, knew that I was out alone and unarmed, then that is only going to get worse."

"He worries because he cares, Leia," said Winter softly. "He is your father, he loves you."

"I know he does," said Leia. "But the last thing he needs at the moment is to be worrying any more about me than he already he is. He has enough to deal with, enough problems with the Rebellion, that it would be cruel to add to that.

Winter's nostrils flared in annoyance. "That's emotional blackmail," she warned.

"I'm just trying to get you to see sense, that's all," replied Leia. "You, more than anyone else, know how much the Rebellion means to me. If you tell him what happened, he will only try to push me further away from it."

"So are you asking me to keep this a secret for his benefit or for yours?" Winter snapped.

"Both," answered Leia. "The Rebellion needs me as much I need to be involved in it, Winter. But I really do not want to have to continue to fight with my father over it, not when we both have so many more important things that we should be focused on."

Winter placed the datapad on the black marble countertop and braced herself on its edge. She knew that the Rebellion had become a contentious issue between Leia and her father in recent months, that Leia's efforts to immerse herself more fully in the Alliance's insurgency against the Empire were being resisted to some extent by Bail. And while she saw Leia as a sister, she also regarded Bail as the father she'd never had; she did not want to be forced into siding with one or the other on the matter.

"I won't tell him," she finally said, but at Leia's visible relief she gestured with her hand to indicate that she had more to say and did not want to be interrupted. "But, should he ask me if anything happened while we were here, I won't lie to him...he trusts me, Leia, he relies on me and I will not do anything that might damage that trust."

Leia pursed her lips, biting back an angry reply. She knew arguing over this any further would be frivolous, that Winter's mind would not be swayed over the decision she'd made. And she understood her friend's position, she knew that it was unfair of her to ask Winter to keep secrets from Bail. So it was imperative that, once they were back on Alderaan, Leia did and said nothing that might lead her father to suspect that something was being kept from him.

Which would be far easier said than done.

"Fine," she said, moving off in the direction of her bedroom. "I suppose I'd better pack."

* * *

The relatively short journey from the apartment complex to the senatorial hangar in which the _Tantive IV_ was docked had been a tense one.

Leia and Winter had spoken little since the contentious end to their discussion earlier that morning. Once they had packed their bags, the pair had made their way to the nearby skycab terminal in silence and, though they sat side by side on the journey, were each doing their best to ignore the other.

The skycab they'd boarded was relatively empty. Adelegation of Ongree politicians were locked in what sounded like a fierce debate in their native language at the back of the vehicle, gesticulating wildly and thumping each other's seats in agitation. In front of Leia and Winter, seated together on the opposite side of the skycab, Senator Makesta of Sembla and Senator Gilo of Rodia were conversing in quiet tones, their heads bowed conspiratorially.

The skycab's pilot, a portly Veknoid, seemed the short-tempered sort; he shouted angrily and shook his fists threateningly in the direction of any speeder that cut in front of him.

Leia thought that any pilot that was so easily enraged would be better off finding work on a far less chaotic world than Coruscant.

They had been stopped momentarily, made to wait for permission from a nearby traffic droid to continue on through an intersection in the hectic skyline traffic lanes.

The skycab hovered next to a massive platform in the upper levels of the planet, on which a popular outdoor market had been constructed. All manner of beings were winding their way through the dozens of stalls and vendors, perusing products items that had been imported from every corner of the galaxy. Normally Leia would enjoy being-watching, picking out species that were unfamiliar to her and wondering where they'd come from, what had brought them to the capital planet. But her mind was now preoccupied by thoughts of what might await her when she arrived back on Alderaan, of what might happen if her father intuited that she and Winter were hiding something from him.

The last thing she wanted now was another argument over whether or not she was ready to take on a more prominent role within the Rebellion but she knew that such an argument would be unavoidable if her father were to learn of the events of the previous night.

Thinking she might try to get some sleep aboard _Tantive IV_ , make use of the short journey through hyperspace to Alderaan to relax her mind ahead of that reunion, Leia jumped when Winter suddenly reached across to her lap and grabbed her hand tightly.

"Leia," she whispered. "Look!"

She was sitting in the seat closest to the window and pointing to something that had caught her attention on the nearby platform. Leaning forward so that she could see around Winter and through the window, Leia quickly recognised what it was that her friend wanted her to see.

Meandering through the dense market crowds, easily distinguishable due to its height and appearance, was a Wookie.

Leia twisted in her seat, moving closer to the window.

She noticed that, as it strode through the crowd, the Wookie was inclining its head downward as though in conversation with a being that was shorter in stature than itself. And then, just as the traffic droid gave clearance for the skycab to continue on its way toward the hangar, Leia saw that the Wookie was indeed talking with a companion, one that was wearing a dark blue jacket, had thick brown hair and was walking with his head turned away from her so that she could not see his face.

The skycab moved on and the platform slid quickly out of Leia's sight.

"Well," said Winter quietly beside her, "he really wasn't that difficult to find after all."


	4. Chapter 4

_There is a divergence from Han & Leia in this chapter to begin laying the groundwork for a major point in the story later on. It could be that there will be a couple more interruptions like this in these early stages of the story; there probably will be. Hopefully they will serve to give a good idea of the kind of challenges that Leia is going to face in the chapters that follow, and Han will play a significant part in that._

* * *

 _4_

From his opulent office at the summit of the Senate building, Mas Amedda surveyed the epicentre of Imperial power that he had helped to create nearly two decades earlier.

Coruscant had not changed much in that time. But whereas the skyline had once been dominated by the grand Jedi Temple, now it was the vast and formidable Imperial Palace that rose high above any other structure on the planet. Upon the fall of the Jedi Order, the Emperor had ordered that the ruins of the temple be left untouched, decreeing that doing so would be symbolic of the changing of what had been the natural order of things in the galaxy; the rubble and debris of the temple would represent the old and archaic, the Jedi Order and Republic, that had been consigned to history, while the rise of Imperial might would be represented by the building and fortification of the palace from which the Emperor would rule.

And rule he had. Gloriously.

This galaxy was the one that Amedda had envisaged as a young politician on Champala; the powerful, or those willing to do what was necessary to seize power, ruled.

The weak, the cowardly, those that had lacked the vision and fortitude to seek power, had subserviently fallen in line.

It had been nearly twenty years of peace, just as the Emperor had promised there would be. In the wake of the Clone Wars, the bitter, bloody and divisive conflicts that had torn the galaxy apart, the Empire had emerged as a unifying force.

But everything had that happened in that time had simply been the beginning, the laying of foundations on which a magnificent future would be constructed; the first movement of what Amedda knew would be a majestic symphony as a new age dawned, for the galaxy at large and for the Empire.

Things were changing, rapidly. Amedda was one of the few beings close enough to the Emperor to know just what lay in store, the plans that had been taking shape over the past two decades and now stood ready to become a reality. The galaxy stood on the precipice of a new era, the Empire was set to herald a new dawn in governance and military might. The lessons of the Old Republic's disintegration had been learned; the Empire stood ready to really establish itself as a an invincible, insurmountable force.

And Amedda would be at the forefront of that.

Having helped to build the Empire, facilitated its creation within the walls of the Senate, he deserved all of the rewards that would soon fall into his lap. His foresight, his struggles, his patience would all be vindicated by his imminent ascension to a position that would give him more power and influence in galactic politics than any other being had ever enjoyed, aside from Palpatine himself.

As he looked out over skyline, Amedda knew that everything he looked up would soon be his own personal domain, one that he would be left to mould and manipulate in any way he saw fit.

Now, with that time so close at hand, the moment had arrived for him to put the plans he'd cultivated for the past twenty years into motion.

His reverie was broken by the chime of the holoprojector that had been built into the tabletop of Amedda's ornate desk. His office had been designed and furnished with all of the trappings that would be expected of a being of his position; priceless paintings by several of the galaxy's artists adorned the walls, one-of-a-kind pieces of work that Amedda had commissioned himself; the elaborately-designed light fixture that hung from the ceiling was embedded with the finest crystals that the mines of Christophsis had to offer; decadent ornaments from dozens of worlds were placed throughout the room, gifts and token of admirations that had been presented to Amedda by his closest political allies.

It was an office that befitted the image and status of its occupant.

Turning away from the window, Amedda activated the holoprojector and the image of his chief aide, a young human female, emerged to address him.

" _Senator Drask has arrived to meet you, Chairman"_ it said.

"Send her in," replied Amedda and the projection bowed before fading away.

Amedda gestured to the far corner of the room and a service droid quickly to begun to shuffle across the office toward him, carrying a silver tray on which a bottle of Eriadu's finest red wine and two crystalline glasses were set. The droid stopped by the desk and stood in obedient silence.

The door to the office opened and Amedda listened to a pair of footsteps make their way through the foyer and down the corridor toward the main area where he waited.

When Fordia Drask stepped into view, she bowed before him.

She was a beautiful woman, tall and slender with porcelain skin and shoulder-length black hair. Born into a political family on Alsakan, Drask had forged a reputation as an outspoken and loyal proponent of Imperial rule very early in her senatorial career and had consequentlybeen identified by the Emperor as someone who possessed the potential to play an important role in future of the Empire. Amedda had been assigned by Palpatine to mentor Drask and it was a task he'd taken to with relish, finding the young woman to be among the most intelligent and charismatic beings he'd ever encountered.

Now, having established herself as the most valued of pro-Imperial voices in the Senate, the Emperor had decided that the time had come for Drask to ascend to a position of real political prominence.

Once she had taken a seat opposite Amedda at the desk, the droid poured two glasses of wine the it placed before each of them, bowed again to them both in turn, and then retreated back into the corner of the room where it stood silently still again.

"I must congratulate you, Fordia," began Amedda, taking a small sip of the rich wine. "Your performance in the Senate this week has been outstanding, particularly in your dealing with that insolent little Alderaanian pest."

Drask smiled and inclined her head in acceptance of the compliment.

"Thank you, Chairman Amedda," she replied.

"In fact, I must congratulate you on your performance throughout your time in the Senate," continued Amedda. "You have more than fulfilled the promise that the Emperor recognised in you when you first arrived on Coruscant to begin your career."

"I could not have done so without your invaluable advice and guidance."

Amedda smirked. Skilled and seasoned a politician as he was, he still enjoyed a little flattery from time to time. And from Drask, that flattery had been earned; he had played an important role in her career, instilled in her the qualities that she'd needed and subsequently used to earn the Emperor's favour.

"I must pass on the Emperor's thanks to you," he continued. "I had the opportunity to see the monuments you had built to honour him on Alsakan on my recent visit to the planet and told him how magnificent they are."

"Thank you, Chairman Amedda."

"They were built at your own expense, were they not? Funded by your family's wealth?"

"They were, yes."

"Very impressive," said Amedda quietly. "And a great demonstration of your unwavering loyalty."

He took another drink of his wine, considering the woman before him critically.

"The Emperor has long thought that you will play an important part in the Empire's future, Fordia, in the further betterment of the galaxy. And I think the time is now at hand for you to prove him to have been correct in placing such faith on your shoulders."

He waited then for the full weight of that to settle over Drask, watched her attempt to make sense of whatever he was implying. Amedda had been in politics long enough now to see the hunger that lay behind the cool professionalism of her demeanour, how desperate this young woman was to take on far greater influence than she held as a senator.

Amedda stood, glass of wine in hand, and retook his position next to the window.

"Things are about to change, Fordia," he said slowly and deliberately, his eyes again on the busy speeder lanes of Coruscant's skyline. "The time of Imperial establishment is drawing to a close and we are now moving into an era of enforcement. The Senate no longer serves an adequate purpose in the eyes of the Emperor and so it will be done away with."

He turned, seeing the expression of utmost shock on Drask's face that he expected to be met with.

"You understand, Fordia, that what we're about to discuss does not leave this room?" He regarded her critically. "What I want to tell you, the reason why I summoned you here today, has been a _very_ closely guarded secret for a long time, something that only those fortunate enough to have the Emperor's complete trust have been granted knowledge of."

She nodded.

"Of course, Chairman Amedda."

He sat again, bracing his elbows on the desk and tapping the fingertips of each of his hands together.

"The Senate had become obsolete," he said. "It no longer serves the best interests of either the Emperor or the Empire. We have reached a point where we do not feel that Imperial policy needs to be debated as it is now, held up by a minority of naive and idealistic pacifists. The Empire was conceived with the promise of it being an instrument of peace and it has achieved that objective. Now we must move forward and the only way to do that is to discard all of the practices that have become archaic...and so the Senate will be dissolved."

Drask's mouth fell open in shock.

"But how can the Senate simply be done away with?" she asked, her alarm evident. And that was understandable; she believed that her own future, her career was now in jeopardy along with the Senate. "There will be outrage, you will be furthering the cause of the Rebellion and sending hundreds of systems scurrying to join their insurrection."

Amedda laughed.

"Come now, Fordia, you don't really believe that we haven't considered that, do you?"

Drask stammered as she formulated a response. "If you have then I don't understand how you could have come to the conclusion that this course of action is the correct one," she replied once she'd gathered her composure. "The Senate has been in place for millennia; how can the Emperor hope to retain democracy by just dissolving the political establishment?"

"By reinventing democracy," retorted Amedda. "By blurring the lines between democracy and autocracy, through a new means of dispersing and enacting power that will sweep away any resistance to the Empire."

Drask did away with propriety; rather than sip her wine politely, she drank the entire glass in the large gulps.

"This is madness," she said quietly. "There will be chaos."

"Do you not trust the Emperor, Fordia?" asked Amedda. "Do you not believe in the Empire?"

"Of course I do," she answered sharply, unwilling to allow her commitment and loyalty to be brought into question. "That's why I have dedicated myself to it, have given everything I have the Empire's cause in the Senate-"

"And that dedication has been noted and will now be rewarded," Amedda interrupted.

Drask fell silent, her expression quickly morphing from one of outrage to intrigue. Amedda summoned the droid over to pour her another glass of wine; she would need it before this meeting was over.

"There will be a redistribution of power," he explained once the droid had shuffled back to its corner of the office. "The galaxy will be divided into regions and a governor appointed by the Emperor to oversee each region; rather than have hundreds of systems and senators all squabbling to make themselves heard in the Senate, a new council will be established, the very finest political minds in the galaxy will be brought together to chart our course toward a brighter and more prosperous future."

"And you expect there to be no opposition to this?"

"No, we expect and anticipate significant opposition," answered Amedda. "But the Emperor has certain... _unilateral_ powers with which with he can act, should he so wish. And, in this instance, he will."

Drask considered this, wondered where in this scheme she might figure. If Amedda was right, if her loyalty and service to the Empire in the Senate was to be rewarded, then she expected something grandiose, a position that would accurately reflect the dedication that was apparently about to be recognised.

"You mentioned enforcement," she said. "How does the Emperor plan to enforce the dissolution of the Senate and keep the dissenting systems in line?"

"Through fear," answered Amedda simply.

This confused Drask. She didn't doubt the might of the Imperial Navy, the military capabilities that the Emperor had at his disposal. But nonetheless, those capabilities had not been enough to destroy guerrilla movements like the Rebellion, small and mobile opposing forces that had so far managed to evade the Empire and strike out from their hidden bases throughout the galaxy. And Drask knew that the Rebellion would be waiting with open arms to accept any

In many ways, she thought that the conflict between Empire and Rebellion was almost like setting a Rancor loose on a Pittin. Yes, the odds were stacked insurmountably in favour of the bigger, stronger, infinitely more formidable beast, but it's slow and cumbersome nature made catching its smaller and weaker prey a far more difficult task than it should have been.

"That will be Grand Moff Tarkin's concern in any event," continued Amedda. "He will oversee the enforcement; I, on the other hand, will handle the politics."

A thought struck Drask then.

"The rumours of superweapons being tested in the Outer Rim...I assume that they play into that enforcement?"

Amedda nodded.

"So Organa and her little band of loyalists are right?" she asked. "The superweapons really do exist?"

"Of course they exist," replied Amedda, sounding almost amused. "And the only reason that Organa is aware of their existence is because the Empire has allowed that to happen. We've leaked information to satisfy her craving for _something_ to complain about in the Senate, to keep her and all of her allies occupied and blissfully unaware of the true scale of the Emperor's objectives."

He reached across to the in-build holoprojector on his desk and entered a code on its panel. Another projection appeared and Drask leaned in closely to inspect it.

It appeared to a space station, simple and spherical in design. There was a circular indentation near the dome, one that seemed to span nearly half of the entire structure and appeared to be some kind of concave dish. The projection slowly rotated in midair and Drask tried to fathom the significance what it was that she was looking at.

"While Organa has been preoccupied with the tests we've allowed to be discovered in the Outer Rim, this," he said pointing at the projection, "has moved into the final stages of construction and testing without any her or anyone else realising."

"What is it?"

"It has been christened the _Death Star_ ," answered Amedda, "an appropriate name for its purpose. This is how the Emperor will maintain and enforce control; once this station is complete and operational, no system will dare oppose the Empire."

He pressed another button on the holoprojector's panel and the projection vanished.

"It possesses the firepower to destroy an entire planet; should any system, or organisation, step out of line then they will be dealt with, with the minimum of effort. This station is so powerful that it will reduce the entire Imperial fleet to a mere supplementary force, it gives us the means with which to finally deal with the Rebellion; we no longer have to search for their bases, concern ourselves with destroying them being-to-being or starship-to-starship. They, and any one else that chooses to make an enemy of the Emperor, will no longer be able to run and hide. We will make it clear that we are prepared exterminate any system that we suspect of harbouring them, squeeze their little operation until it chokes. And, once we've deprived them of all of their allies and forced them out into the open, we will crush them."

He sat back in his chair with a satisfied smirk, given Drask the time she needed to comprehend the full extent of the Empire's might, the extent to which its power had so greatly increased.

Drask was humbled. She realised this moment for what it was: a turning point in galactic governance and military practice, a watershed at which a complete break with the past would be made and a new era truly entered. This station was the realisation of the Tarkin Doctrine, would embody ruling through fear. The Senate really would be rendered obsolete; no system or senator would dare oppose any policy put forth by the Emperor, would not risk having the power of this Death Star unleashed upon them.

Which left one important matter that she needed to be resolved now.

"So where is it, exactly, that I fit in all of this?"

Amedda learned forward, moving closer to her.

"As I alluded to, the station will be Tarkin's toy to play with. Once the Senate is dissolved, I will be appointed as Grand Vizier of the Empire and, for all intents and purposes, lead the council of governors that will be created on behalf of the Emperor. And I want you to work with me, to play a very important part."

Drask waited with baited breath for him to continue.

"You, Fordia," Amedda went on, "will become the first Imperial Director of Legislature. I want you to examine every law, every policy ever put in place in the Senate and reorganise them all - get rid of the ones that have no place in the new era, eliminate every loophole that might be exploited to our detriment, draw up new laws that will ensure that every system in this galaxy will be in no doubt as to what falling in line entails...I demand obedience, Fordia, I demand order, and I expect you to help me achieve that."

This was it, thought Drask, the moment to which she'd aspired for so long. Power, prominence and prestige would all be hers to wield as she saw fit, she would have the influence and means with which to rid the galaxy of irritants like Leia Organa once and for all.

"It would be an honour to serve the Emperor in such a way," she said finally, managing to conceal her euphoria under an appropriate facade of professional stoicism.

Amedda raised what remained of his wine in the air and indicated that she should do the same. "A toast to a deserved reward for your diligence and dedication, Fordia," he proclaimed. As their glasses touched he added, "and to the Empire."

"To the Empire," murmured Drask, swallowing her wine.

"As I said before, no one is to know of this," said Amedda, placing his empty glass back on the table. "For now, the Emperor is simply moving the right pieces into the correct places so that there will be as little disruption as possible when the Senate is dissolved. And in the meantime, there is a task that I would like you to undertake on behalf of the Empire."

He used a remote control panel to activate the office's viewscreen and Drask so that it was broadcasting what looked to be footage recorded by a surveillance droid in the Senate building's central plaza. A group of senators were huddled together, passing a datapad between themselves and talking with heads bowed. Drask saw that Leia Organa and Mon Mothma, two particularly annoying political adversaries, were among them.

"They think that by conspiring in plain sight we will not notice them," sneered Amedda disdainfully. "As though we aren't already aware of their little clandestine gatherings at the Alderaanian and Chandrilan embassies whenever they're here on Coruscant."

He used the remote panel to deactivate the viewscreen.

"Eventually we will get around to dealing with them in the manner that they all deserve since we suspect that they are committing treason," he said. "But Organa is becoming a particular problem given her nasty habit of letting her mouth run away with itself whenever the Senate is in session, and we're concerned that some of her outbursts might just be resonating with some of the more gullible and idealistically-minded systems. Senator Ferrio is under the impression that he and his useless committee have the responsibility of handling her but the Emperor and I agree that the task requires someone with your intellect and competence if we are to adequately quell with this particular issue; irritating as she may be, Senator Organa is as intelligent as she is persistent."

Drask nodded and voiced a theory she'd long harboured. "She's with the Rebellion, isn't she?"

"We strongly suspect so," replied Amedda. "Though we haven't been able to gather any firm evidence with which to ruin her and the rest of her cohorts as of yet...they're all very adept at covering their tracks. But if they are not officially affiliated with the Rebellion then Organa is at least being supplied with intelligence that we know Alliance operatives have gathered, the same as her father."

"So what do you want me to do?" asked Drask.

"Ruin her on behalf of the Empire," replied Amedda. "Pick at her the next time the Senate is in session, antagonise her, push her into doing or saying _something_ that might really incriminate herself and the rest of that pitiful little insurgency. Tighten the noose around her neck, find the thread to unravel whatever connection she has to the Rebellion, one that will lead us to them...do you think that is a challenge that you are up to, Fordia?

"Absolutely," smiled Drask. "It will be my pleasure."

* * *

"Alright, let's see."

Han dropped into his pilot's chair and switched on the _Falcon's_ navicomputer, balancing a fork and carton of Sullustan noodles in one hand as he did so.

He scrolled through the inventory of ports and outposts that were stored in the ship's logs, looking for a place to head to once he and Chewbacca left Coruscant. Having stocked up on enough supplies to last them for at least a couple of weeks in hyperspace, they had their pick of a fairly extensive list of possible destinations to select from; the challenge was choosing one where they were likely to avoid getting into any sort of trouble.

Chewbacca entered the cockpit, having stored away all of the food and medical supplies they'd purchased at the market. He took his own seat, still mumbling about a confrontation that Han had had with a vendor they'd met.

"Will you quit griping about that," Han muttered, agitated that his co-pilot just wouldn't let the matter go. "I was complimenting him, it wasn't like I expected him to take it the wrong way and go crazy."

" _You know that Sullustans take pride in their piloting,"_ replied Chewie snappily. _"You really did not have to make those obnoxious insinuations about his skills as a pilot in order to praise his cooking."_

"Well, I still don't think I said anything that bad," said Han, shrugging. He scooped up a forkful of noodles and shovelled them into his mouth. "Sullustans do make good noodles," he said around the mouthful of food he was chewing.

" _You could have just said that,"_ grumbled Chewie. _"I do not understand why you felt the need to tell him that you do not believe that Sullustans can fly worth a damn."_

"At least I know not to do it again now - lesson learned." Han gestured to the navicomputer while he worked his way through the carton of noodles. "Now, quit complaining and pick a place to go, will you?," he mumbled.

Chewie leaned across to look through the logs. Here was one of the challenges of working alongside Han Solo: steering clear of all the places where they might run into someone who might hold a grudge against Han for something he'd done years earlier. But, given their situation with Jabba, they couldn't afford to be too picky; they needed work, a job that would pay well and pay promptly. Unfortunately, the issue they had with Jabba also meant that they were better off keeping away from the Outer Rim, which limited their options quite substantially.

 _"Are you prepared to swallow your pride and go crawling back to Zadasso yet? Ready to plead for his forgiveness and beg for work?"_ he asked sceptically. _"It is practically a stone's throw from here to Brentaal?"_

Han didn't answer and simply threw his partner a look of disgust as he continued to eat.

" _I did not think so,"_ muttered Chewie.

"Hey," said Han, having seemingly been struck by an idea. "What about Tresta Outpost? That's not far from here, I think it's only about a four hour jump."

Chewie searched for it on the navicomputer. It had been some time since they'd last ventured to Tresta Outpost but he couldn't remember them ever getting into any real trouble there. If the _Falcon's_ records were up to date then there were several smaller smuggling organisations operating out of Tresta that might be have been able to offer them both some decent work opportunities. They occurred somewhat rarely but Chewie thought that this might prove to be one of his partner's better ideas.

He murmured his agreement with the suggestion and began to enter the coordinates for a hyperspace jump to the outpost ready for when they lifted off of Coruscant. Out of the corner of his eye, the Wookie saw Han discard his now-empty takeout carton and habitually brush his hands across his jacket and trousers in case he'd dropped anything on himself and hadn't realised. As he did so, Chewie noticed him wince.

" _I still think you should go to a medcentre and get that hand looked at,_ " he said, indicating Han's heavily bandaged right wrist. _"You might have broken something."_

Han shook his head. "For the last time, I haven't broken anything and I'm not going to a medcentre," he replied. "It's just a couple of bruised knuckles Chewie, give it a couple of days and they'll be as good as new."

The Wookie regarded him sceptically. Han had a tendency to downplay every injury he suffered so Chewie never quite knew when he was right to be concerned that the damage was worse than the captain insisted; Han did have knack of somehow getting himself out of the most dangerous situation with barely a scratch inflicted on him but Chewie still worried that he was in more pain than he was prepared to admit.

" _I think that you will not see a doctor because you do not want to have to admit that you were hurt being chivalrous,"_ he smirked. _"You are more concerned about your reputation than your own wellbeing."_

"I'll remember that the next time your furry carcass is on the line and you need me to bail you out of trouble," retorted Han and Chewie snorted in amusement as he transmitted their departure request to the nearby control tower.

Han inspected his wrist while they waited for their permission to takeoff. The painkillers he'd taken earlier that morning had taken effect fairly quickly, but their effects were beginning to wear off now. The sharp pains he'd felt in his knuckles when he'd woken up was gone and had been replaced by a dull and persistent ache.

 _"I still do not understand how you failed to ask that young woman for her name,"_ said Chewie from beside him.

"Me neither," replied Han. "You never know, she might have been some rich politician or something, I could have gotten myself a nice reward for my heroic deed."

Chewie snorted again, though this time not in amusement.

" _I do not believe you mean that,"_ he growled. _"Even you have more morals than to take money from a young woman who had been put through such a horrible ordeal."_

"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Han. "'Course I wouldn't have taken money off her, I was only kidding...y'know, I am capable of doing the right thing even when there's nothing in it for me."

" _I do know that," said Chewie, "I remind you of that constantly...it is you that seems to have trouble believing and admitting to it most of the time."_

A loud beeping alerted them that they'd received their clearance to leave the planet. Chewie put on his headset and fired up the _Falcon's_ engines while Han fastened his seat's crash webbing, careful not to knock his hand against anything. The ship rose slowly from its landing struts and ascended steadily toward the heavens, bypassing Coruscant's busy speeder lanes. Once they'd left the planet's orbit, Chewie muttered that the coordinates for their hyperspace jump to Tresta Outpost had been calculated and they were ready to go to lightspeed.

While they'd made their departure, Han had become lost in thought about the events of the previous night, wondering where the young woman he'd helped was now and if she was alright; he knew that an experience like the one that she'd endured had to have left more than bruises. He remembered the last time he'd seen her, when she'd stepped into the elevator and turned to face him and he'd known, even from a distance, that she'd been waiting for the doors to slide closed, waited to be alone, before she finally allowed herself to fall apart.

A bark and gentle nudge to his shoulder from Chewie brought him back to the present. Murmuring an apology for zoning out, Han eased down on the lever that put the _Falcon_ into hyperspace and reclined in his chair, relieved to be leaving Coruscant behind them.


	5. Chapter 5

Bail Organa knew that something was wrong with his daughter.

He'd sensed it in the palace hangar, from the moment she'd first emerged from _Tantive IV_ the previous afternoon and greeted him _._ There was a tension in her posture, a shadow behind her eyes that he'd detected immediately. As he always did, Bail had followed events on Coruscant closely, knew of the vitriol she'd faced in the Senate. And it was not something that had greatly concerned him; any opposition Leia had faced throughout her fledgling political career had only served to strengthen her resolve rather than weaken it.

Now, something was burdening her.

He could see it in her interactions with Winter. The two were thick as thieves, so closely attuned to one another that Bail often wondered whether some sort of emotional synchronicity had formed between them at some point in their upbringing; he could sense how one was feeling from the demeanour of the other. And the nervous tension that existed between them now, the way they kept casting nervous glances at each other whenever they were in his presence, disconcerted him.

He knew that Leia wouldn't tell him what was wrong; she'd view that as an admission of weakness and give him some sort of cover story that he would normally accept but never believed. That was simply her way of dealing with things, keeping him and everyone else somewhat in the dark.

But whereas he could normally rely on Winter to keep informed of things that might be bothering Leia, she too seemed to uncharacteristically be purposely avoiding him now. She was Bail's eyes and ears on Coruscant, a reassuring presence for Leia as a confidant and aide. It was difficult enough convincing Leia to talk to him at times, he really didn't want to be in a situation where Winter might be hiding something too.

In truth, these concerns were the last thing that Bail needed right now.

Between the Rebellion and the natural, everyday worries he carried as a parent, it seemed like he did nothing but fret over one thing or another.

The Alliance seemed to become a more pressing matter of urgency with each passing day. It was why he had had to spend most of his evening shut away in his study, poring over intelligence dossiers and signing off on supply and armament requests, endeavouring to keep the Rebellion together while infighting threatened to tear it apart.

He'd never been under the illusion that forming and leading a resistance movement against the Empire would be straightforward. And after nearly twenty years of operating in and striking out from the shadows, he thought it a miracle that he and the rest of the council had managed to keep the organisation from splintering completely. But the bickering, the disagreements that plagued the Rebellion now were worse than they'd ever been; for every system or senator within their ranks that was calling for the launch of a full-scale assault on the Empire, another was threatening to walk away entirely at the slightest hint of open warfare breaking out.

The entire situation was a mess, one that demanded Bail's constant attention. And, further complicating matters, he was now also having to do everything within his power to prevent Leia from hurtling headlong into the midst of it all.

Part of the reason he had been willing to allow Leia to pursue a political career at such a young age had been that he thought, and hoped, it might preoccupy enough of her time and attention that she would be distracted from her determination to immerse herself in the Rebellion. He'd accepted long ago that the destinies of both his daughter and the insurrection he'd helped to create were intertwined, that the Rebellion was Leia's future.

But he was adamant that now was not the time for her involvement with it to deepen any further.

He kept her informed of the decisions that both he and the Alliance High Command were taking, would discuss strategy with her, was intrigued by and valued the perspectives she had to offer. But he resisted Leia's efforts to partake more fully in matters of the Rebellion, strived to ensure her focus remained predominantly on the Senate where he felt she could make a real contribution to the Alliance's cause without straying into the conflict herself.

He thought he'd planned everything out so well; Leia's promise as a politician, her potential to really make a difference, had facilitated his step back from front-line politics, allowed him to devote his attention more fully to the Rebellion while his daughter served as his natural successor in the Senate.

And yet, in spite of that, everything just seemed to become more and more complicated.

Struggling to stifle a yawn, he cast aside a datapad on which he'd been reading a report from the Alliance's reconnaissance base on Ranolta; another problem that would likely require his personal intervention. After making a note to comm Captain Antilles and ask him to prepare _Tantive IV_ for an early departure the next day, Bail poured himself a glass of whiskey and reclined in his favourite chair.

As it so often did now, his mind wandered to his wife.

Another specialist had come to Alderaan to see Breha while Leia and Winter had been away on Coruscant. There had been more tests, more questions but still no answers; the general consensus of medical opinion was that Breha was suffering from some sort of blood disorder, though without a proper and accurate diagnosis there had been no real progress made in determining a treatment. After dozens of consultations, months of Bail exhausting himself in searching for a doctor _somewhere_ in the galaxy that might offer them some sort of hope, they were still at an impasse.

He and Breha had agreed that it was best to keep the situation from Leia, to not worry her before they could offer the reassurance of them having found a treatment and promise that Breha's condition was improving.

In the meantime, Breha was doing her best to carry on as though everything was normal and it was tearing Bail apart to see the toll that that was taking on her. She'd had breakfast with Leia that morning, a routine the two shared whenever Leia returned from her assignments to Coruscant, and had then spent the rest of the day in bed, so fatigued that she'd barely been able to lift her head from her pillow. The physical toll that simply walking down to their favourite garden terrace and spending an hour talking with their daughter had taken on his wife had been devastating for Bail to witness.

As much as Breha tried to mask them, to put on a brave face, Bail could really see the physical changes taking hold in her now, the ways in which she seemed to be diminishing before his eyes: the hollowing of her cheeks, the dullness in her eyes, the dimming of her normally indomitable spirit and sense of humour. And it made him feel utterly powerless.

There was the great irony of life; he could help found and lead a covert political and military operation for nearly two decades, take on all the galaxy's problems and find solutions to them, bury his own anxieties and worries behind a facade of stoicism and stern leadership.

But he couldn't find a way to heal the woman he loved, to make her well again.

All Bail could do was take heart from the strength that Breha was finding within herself to carry on and leave no stone unturned in his quest to find the treatment she needed. She didn't suffer openly; instead she masked her own pain and her frustration for the benefit of those around her, striving for normality in spite of the uncertainties she was facing. But Bail knew that he was watching his wife fade away before him, was terrified that her illness might be the one thing that proved beyond his ability to control.

The feeling of powerless turned to anger.

He was sick of the secrets he was having to keep, of the toll they were taking on himself and his family.

And he would be damned if his daughter had to suffer similarly. He was not going to allow Leia to think that there was anything she had to keep from him. He loved and trusted his daughter unconditionally, had complete faith that there was nothing that they couldn't overcome together so long as they were honest with one another.

It didn't matter that she was too stubborn to confide in him about whatever was bothering her, nor how late at night it was; he was going to talk to Winter, would wake her up if he had to, and find out exactly what had happened on Coruscant.

* * *

Upon finding that Leia was not in her bedroom, Bail knew immediately where he would find her.

Venturing down to the gardens, he made his way past the Arallute bushes and the greenhouses to the fountain that he'd commissioned shortly after Leia's birth. It had been his way of commemorating a dear friend, one whose premature passing had forever altered the course of Bail's life. He had insisted that the ivy that adorned the outside of the structure be brought to Alderaan from Naboo, that the steel incorporated into the fountain's design be produced at a foundry in Theed. When Leia had been younger, whenever she'd argued with Bail or fought with Winter, she would come to this fountain and sulk for a time. And as she'd grown, it had remained the place where she would venture to whenever she was upset or troubled by something in the Senate. Bail wondered whether, subconsciously, Leia somehow felt comforted by the fountain because of its ties to her true heritage.

He found Leia exactly how he expected; head bowed, hands clasped together tightly, staring into the depths of the fountain water with a faraway look in her eyes.

For a moment, he didn't see the young woman she was now but the little girl she had once been.

And now that he knew everything that Leia had kept from him since her return to Alderaan, he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and promise to never let anything or anyone hurt her again.

"Do you remember," he said, announcing his presence and stepping out of the shadows to sit beside her at the fountain, "when you couldn't sleep when you were younger? You would come and find me in my study, because you knew I'd be awake too, worrying about some dire matter in the Senate. And we'd take a speeder and go down to the cliffs just beyond Aldera...we'd sit there for hours and talk, just the two of us, while we watched the waterfalls."

Leia nodded.

"I miss those days," Bail sighed. "Back then, there wasn't anything that I could not help you with, no problem that I could not solve...everything was just so much less complicated."

"I miss them too," replied Leia softly. "I'm sorry for growing up," she said in a quiet voice, a slight smile pulling at her lips.

Bail laughed and placed his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his embrace, content to sit in silence with his daughter for a moment and allow himself to become a little lost in cherished memories of the past.

It was Leia who eventually broke the silence.

"Winter told you, didn't she?"

Bail should have known that she was too perceptive to allow him to subtly navigate them into a conversation about what had happened on Coruscant; Leia had known exactly what he wanted to discuss from the moment he'd first spoke. He hoped that Leia would not angry with Winter for telling him, for understanding that is was unfair to have expected her to not say anything.

"I'm not angry," said Leia as she'd read his thoughts, her head resting on his shoulder. "I knew that Winter would tell you...and now that she has, it's actually a relief that I don't have to hide it from you."

"Why didn't _you_ tell me?" asked Bail.

He felt Leia take a deep breath next to him, felt her shoulders relax as she breathed out, as though all of the pent up tension of the last day had been released. "If Winter told you what happened, she also told you why I didn't want you to know about it," she answered stiffly.

Bail shook his head in slight frustration. So, it _was_ the Rebellion again. If Leia's determination to play a more prominent role in the Alliance was going to cause her to lie to him, to keep secrets from him, then he knew that further problems lay ahead of them both. He had been angry with himself when Winter had explained why Leia had been determined to keep the truth of her ordeal on Coruscant from him, frustrated that his daughter would hide such a thing from him out of fear that his resistance to Leia furthering her involvement with the Rebellion would only intensify if he knew what she had been subjected to.

"The only thing I care about is your safety," he replied quietly. "That is the only thing that matters to me, Leia. I would hope that you know that, trust that the Rebellion didn't even enter my thoughts when Winter told me what had happened to you, not until she told me _why_ you had asked her to keep such a a secret from me."

"I didn't want to worry you."

"I worry about you all of the time, Leia," retorted Bail. "I worry about you from the moment you leave for Coruscant until the moment you arrive back home...that is my job, it is the natural order of things when you are a parent."

Leia sat up, her head lifting from his shoulder. Bail watched as she hunched her shoulders, her eyes cast downward at her clasped hands in her lap.

"You have enough on your mind without having to worry about whether or not I can take care of myself," she said.

"I _know_ that you can take care of yourself," Bail insisted, leaning forward to take her hands in his. "I have never doubted that."

"I was so naive," Leia murmured, more to herself it seemed than to Bail. "So stupid."

If Leia had one fault in the eyes of her father, it was her belief that she needed to be infallible at all times. It was something that Bail had tried to caution her against throughout her life, warning her that no being in the galaxy was invulnerable. And, even if Leia had perhaps been a little guilty of a slight lapse of judgement on Coruscant, that did not mean that what had happened was in any way her fault, that any of the blame lay at her own feet.

"You did nothing wrong, Leia, _none_ of the blame for what happened lies with you," he said earnestly, reaching to lay his hand gently and consolingly on her shoulder. "You had the misfortune of crossing paths with an animal, a lowlife piece of filth. And, pacifism be damned, I would welcome the opportunity to tear him apart, limb by limb, with my bare hands if I ever get the opportunity...although," he added, with the beginnings of a wry smile, "I hear that the person who did get their hands on him did a fairly good job of beating some decency into the miscreant."

Leia's head turned up sharply and, after seeing her father's amusement, she grinned too.

"Yes, I've head all about the mysterious Corellian," Bail continued. "Although I will admit that I had some trouble believing that part of Winter's story at first - it is very rare to come across anyone with the Bloodstripe these days, never mind someone who works alongside a Wookie. I do hope that if, through some incredibly unlikely quirk of fate, you ever see that man again, you will tell him that I would very much like the opportunity to shake his hand and thank him for what he did."

Leia chuckled and let her head fall to gently rest upon her father's shoulder again. "I will," she whispered, put at ease now by the immeasurable relief she felt at the manner in which her father had reacted to Winter's account of everything that had transpired on Coruscant. She had worried that he might be angry, think her irresponsible for being out at night alone and out of contact with Winter or any of her security detail.

But, clearly, it had been very unfair on her part to have ever harboured such concerns of her father.

"I zm sorry for not telling you," she said quietly.

"There is no need for you to apologise for anything," Bail replied, moving closer and gently pulling her into his embrace. "But Leia, please, no more secrets between us...I trust you...I know how intelligent you are, how _brilliant_ you are. But, like the rest of us, you are also neither indestructible nor infallible...sometimes you are going to need help and I will always, _always_ be here to offer it to you."

"I know," Leia murmured in return, closing her eyes tightly against the tears that were suddenly threatening.

"And please settle whatever dispute you have with Winter," Bail continued. "I hate it when you two are bickering."

"We're not bickering," Leia snapped, somewhat petulantly. "I am ignoring her."

"Yes, she told me," Bail said tiredly. "Aren't you two a little old for this sort of nonsense?"

Leia stewed silently. She felt she was well within her rights to be angry at Winter; during the journey home from Coruscant, Leia had retired to her private quarters aboard _Tantive IV_ to rest and, while conducting some research on something of a personal matter, had promptly fallen asleep. When Winter to come to tell her that the ship was about to land on Alderaan, she'd seen the datapad and subsequently taken great delight in teasing Leia for searching out information on the Corellian Bloodstripe. Leia had been in no mood at the time to tolerate such childishness and the argument that had ensued between herself and Winter over the matter had been particularly nasty; the two had gone to great lengths to avoid one another since their arrival back at the palace.

"I'll talk to her in the morning," Leia promised, having already grudgingly admitted to herself that she had overreacted to Winter's well-intentioned but ill-timed attempt to alleviate some of the tension that had been weighing heavily upon her.

"Good."

They sat in silence again and Bail took the opportunity to consider how he might now broach the subject of the Rebellion. He knew that he could no longer delay such a discussion; one way or another, irrespective of whether he liked it not, Bail understood that he could not simply keep Leia on the periphery of the Alliance, not when she was so determined that she would not be shepherded into a marginal role within the organisation. If not now, there needed to be some kind of understanding between them of when it would be appropriate for Leia take on more of the responsibilites that she craved and those responsibilities would be.

"You must know," he began carefully, "that my reasons for preventing you from becoming further involved with the Rebellion have nothing to do with how capable I think you are of contributing to our cause...that if there is one thing I am certain of when it comes to the Alliance, it is that you are one of our most important assets."

Leia turned to look at him, her lips quirked as though she was biting the inside of her cheek. She slowly, almost tentatively, shook her head.

"No," she answered quietly. "I don't know that."

Bail sighed. "I suppose neither of us have been very good at communicating when it comes to the Rebellion," he said regretfully. "But I promise you Leia that I know better than to _ever_ doubt you."

"The decisions you've taken over the past few months haven't always reflected that," Leia muttered, somewhat resentfully.

"I know." Bail stood and began to pace across the grass, frustrated with himself for allowing this matter to have reached the point that it had, that his own daughter seemed to be unaware of just how highly he regarded her. It was time he put that right, began to heal the rift that had developed between them.

"You have to understand that I know the challenges of finding a balance between a career in the Senate and a prominent role within the Rebellion," he said, continuing to pace slowly. "I spent most of your life struggling to find that balance until I stepped away from politics...Mon Mothma is one of the most brilliant politicians I've ever known and she still struggles with the demands of her career and the Rebellion, even after all these years."

"When I tell you that the Alliance needs you in the Senate, I am not trying to placate you Leia, it is not an excuse to keep you away from the Rebellion." He paused. "The truth is that there are simply not enough senators like you and Mon left, the few who are prepared to challenge Palpatine...too many systems now are too happy to fall in line with the Empire, their loyalty and subservience is too easily bought. If the Alliance is to stand any chance of succeeding, we need you fighting our cause politically. When you speak, Leia, the galaxy listens...when you refuse to be silenced by the Empire, it offers hope and inspiration to planets and systems that have yet to find their own voices."

Leia's cheeks tinged pink, a sign of her growing irritation. "So I am expected to be just a symbol for the cause?" she snapped.

"Of course not," answered Bail exasperatedly. "Your time will come, Leia, probably far sooner than I would like it to...you are the future of the Rebellion, of this galaxy. All I have tried to do is stop you from falling under the same pressure that I had to live with for so long, allow you to give everything you have to the Senate for as long as you possibly can."

"By preventing me from offering everything that I can to the Rebellion?"

Bail bit back a sharp retort. Their conversation was not going at all the way he'd hoped it would; they were both simply going around in circles, too firmly entrenched in their separate stances to come to any sort of understanding or resolution. One of them would have to at least begin to back down and he knew it would not be Leia.

Sitting beside her at the fountain again, he took his daughter's hand in both of his own.

"I was born for this fight, Father," Leia said quietly. "I love you but you cannot decide how and when I choose to fight it."

And that was the crux of the issue - Leia had been born for this fight, although she did not yet know, nor would she be able to imagine, the full extent of that truth; for as long as Bail kept her on the fringes of the Rebellion, there could be no resolution to this conflict between himself and his daughter.

"You're right," he conceded. "As you always are."

He smiled at her and saw the hope alight in her eyes, the realisation dawning that his resolve might finally be weakening.

"I am not going to promise you anything now," he warned sternly. "The concerns that I have still stand...you are too important to the Senate to join the Alliance High Command or take a place on the council. But, I am prepared to consider and discuss your role within the Alliance further with you, to try and find ways in which you might contribute more directly to the Rebellion that would not compromise your political responsibilities."

Leia beamed and threw her arms around his neck and Bail wondered now why it had taken so long for them to arrive at this compromise. It was not a complete resolution to the disagreement that had festered between them in recent months but it was at least a positive step toward finding one.

"I have to go away for a couple of days - Alliance business," he explained at Leia's enquiring look. "While I am gone, make some plans. And when I get back we can then sit down together and discuss them and, from there, we will hopefully begin to move forward."

Leia nodded, her excitement and enthusiasm palpable. Bail knew better than to expect more than a simple outline of whatever plans his daughter might have in mind when he returned to Alderaan; there would be a dossier awaiting him.

The tension now lifted, they sat in comfortable quiet with only the gentle noise of the fountain water breaking the silence. It was in these moments that Bail could forget about the demands placed on him as a leader of a galactic revolution, about the pressures and stresses of insurrection and war; here, in moments like this, he was simply a father, enjoying the company of his daughter; he thought ruefully that such moments had become all too rare in their lives.

"I meant to ask," said Leia without breaking their embrace. "Is Mother alright?"

The harshness of reality came crashing back down on Bail. "She's fine," he answered after a hesitant delay that he hoped would escape even Leia's powers of perception. "Why do you ask?"

"It's nothing," said Leia. "I just thought she looked a little pale at breakfast this morning, that's all."

"Oh," said Bail, affecting as nonchalant a tone as he could. "Now that you mention it, she was a little under the weather while you were away. Nothing to worry about, a few days rest and she will be back to her best...you'll keep an eye on her while I'm gone?"

He felt Leia nod her head against his shoulder and mentally breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

"What is this about again?"

Bail looked up from his datapad. After only a couple of hours of sleep, he was carrying out a few last minute tasks ahead of his departure for Ranolta and had summoned Niram Mellorn, the palace physician, to his study to issue instructions that would cover his absence from Alderaan.

"The reconnaissance base we're trying to establish on Ranolta has been tracking a militant group in that system, some sort of anti-establishment organisation according to the intelligence we've gathered," answered Bail. "From what I gather there have been a few disagreements amongst our command group there over how best to deal with it so it's fallen on me to intervene and hopefully prevent our own troops from killing one another."

As well as a member of his own staff, Niram had been a member of the Rebel Alliance for nearly a decade and so was well aware of the covert assignments that Bail was undertaking on behalf of the Rebellion.

"Do we know who this militancy group are?"

Bail shook his head. "No," he answered. "Unfortunately, a few of them have sprung up over the past couple of years. They're mostly troublemakers, anarchists who've deluded themselves into believing that they're making some sort of anti-establishment statement by attacking both the Rebellion and the Empire."

"So they're not involved with the militancy on Jedha that you told me about?" asked Niram.

"Saw Gerrera's group? No, thankfully," replied Bail.

"Well, I wish you the best of luck on your travels," said Niram. "I am sure that there will be another Alliance problem that requires your urgent attention awaiting you when you arrive back home."

Bail chuckled. "I sincerely hope not," he said. "I have enough to worry about within my own family at the moment." He finished his task on the datapad and placed it back in the safe that was built into his desk. "You will take care of Breha while I'm gone?"

"Of course, Bail," replied Niram. "She needs rest more than anything now and I'll see to it that she gets plenty of that. And while you are away, I will continue researching that list of haemotologists that the last specialist left with us, see if I can track down someone who might finally be able to do something for her."

"Thank you," said Bail. "We both appreciate all of the help you've given us."

"Think nothing of it," said Niram. "And don't worry about anything back here while you are gone, I have your secure communication code and will contact you if anything urgent arises."

Bail nodded. "I've told Carlist to keep an eye on Leia and Winter but I think he might require your assistance with that particular task. Just try not to be too obvious when it comes to distracting them from Breha's illness."

"I will," promised Niram. "But you know as well as I do that at some point you're going to have to tell them both the truth." She signed. "It is as unfair on you and Breha as it is on the girls to continue to hide this secret from them."

Bail knew that she was right, had tried to make the same argument to Breha. But he would not go against his wife's wishes; if Breha wanted to wait until they found a means of treatment for her condition before telling Leia about it then that was what he would do, no matter how much it pained him to be keeping such a secret from their daughter.

"Nothing about this situation is fair, Niram" he said quietly, leaving his study and setting off for the palace hangar.


	6. Chapter 6

_6_

Tresta Outpost was, to put it mildly, a dump.

It had started out as a satellite resort, back in an era when such things had been the latest trend in galactic vacationing, in the days of the Old Republic. They were the kind of places that only the wealthiest beings could afford to enjoy, offering every luxury and amenity that credits could buy. Royalty, the political and social elites and celebrities from every corner of the galaxy flocked to them, defining them in their heyday as the ultimate symbols of money and status.

Unfortunately for places like Tresta, their creators did not possess the foresight or common sense to realise that wherever wealth congregated, crime would soon follow.

And when the thieves and conmen moved in, the wealthy decided to stay away.

So the era of the satellite resort ended. The businesses that owned them simply walked away, turning their creations over to the dregs of society that had corrupted and destroyed them. Criminal gangs and smuggling groups took up permanent residence; the palatial hotels became dens of depravity, the ornate artificial beaches transformed into venues for illegal pod and swoop racing, the restaurants that once served the finest in galactic cuisine were converted into dank and dingy cantinas. The only things that remained largely untouched were the casinos.

Tresta was one resort that had fallen on particularly hard times.

At some point following its fall from grace, an inebriated pilot had commandeered a small freighter and crashed it into the upper levels of what had once been the outpost's landmark hotel, where it had remained precariously perched ever since. The image had become famous and had come to be seen by some as a symbol of of the current state of the galaxy, where everything that was good and prosperous seemed to eventually be corrupted and destroyed.

But if a being was in search of work that was anything but legitimate, Tresta Outpost was a good place to go.

Such a search had led Han Solo and Chewbacca to the outpost, though they had found that Tresta was going through something of a lean period when it came to decent employment opportunities. The two smuggling organisations that Chewie had seen mentioned in the _Millennium Falcon's_ shipping logs were gone, apparently scared off by a particularly violent gang of Weequay thugs that taken up residence on Tresta and were making their presence felt.

Having nevertheless decided to give it a couple of days before moving on in their search for work, Han and Chewie were making the most of the local hospitality, in particular the cantinas and casinos. And, having paired up to win a decent amount of money at the sabaac tables during their first night on Tresta, the two were in agreement that the trip here had been proven to be something of a success even if they didn't manage to find anyone looking to hire two of the galaxy's best and most capable smugglers.

But by the second night, Han was beginning to grow restless.

Chewie was in his element. From his seat in a corner booth of the cantina in which they'd spent much of the evening, Han watched as the Wookie methodically relieved hapless opponent after hapless opponent of credits at the sabaac table on the opposite end of the bar. The small crowd that had gathered around the table to watch erupted into cheers as another hand went in Chewie's favour. One of his opponents, a Duros, abruptly stood from the table and stalked past Han, muttering angrily in its alien language as it left the cantina.

Finishing the last drop of whiskey in his glass, Han motioned to the bartender for another. With an expression on his face that could curdle blue milk, the dour-looking man poured the drink and summoned an ancient-looking service droid to deliver it to Han's table.

He thought that he might make this his last drink and head back to the _Falcon_ to turn in early. Although it had been his idea to come here, Han was just about ready to get off of Tresta. He had no idea where he and Chewie might go next; he had an uneasy feeling that if they couldn't find work here then their prospects in this part of the galaxy were not promising.

Though he hadn't talked it over with Chewie yet, Han was considering taking a calculated risk and heading to the Outer Rim, figuring that as long as they stayed away from any planet that they knew Jabba's operation had a presence on, they might just be able to keep their noses clean and find some work.

And while he knew that Chewie wouldn't be on board with the idea at first, their situation with Jabba meant that they were fast approaching a point where they would have no choice but to take a few risks; they needed a lot of money and they needed it fast.

It had been nearly six months since they'd dumped that blasted shipment of spice and had it not been for the fact that Jabba knew that Han was too good a smuggler to simply have him disposed of immediately, they'd both have probably been dead a long time ago. But Jabba's patience had really begun to run out now; having afforded Han the luxury of a opportunity to repay his debt, the Hutt was apparently beginning to favour making a statement over waiting to be repaid the credits that he was owed. Having his best smuggler roughed up and fed to a Rancor would get that job done, send the message that no one was above consequences if they crossed Jabba.

The problem from Han's point of view was that every time he and Chewie found a job from which they thought they'd earn enough to at least buy them some more time, word would reach them that Jabba had increased their debt. The spice they'd lost when the _Falcon_ had been boarded by an Imperial patrol was worth around ten thousand credits; with the penalties Jabba that had imposed on them since, the debt now stood very close to double that.

And having their debt to Jabba be common knowledge in smuggling circles had only made things tougher for Han and Chewie. Given how rival organisations hated the Hutts, especially Jabba, they were reluctant to offer the pair work when they knew the credits they'd pay out would eventually end up being deposited into Jabba's accounts.

If Han thought about the whole mess too much, it began to feel like he was drowning, sinking deeper and deeper into the mire.

He lamented again how different things would be if he and Chewie still had access to the emergency fund they'd smartly and diligently saved over the course of their partnership, putting away a small cut of every payment they'd ever gotten so that they'd both have something to fall back on in the future; as much as it might have flown in the face of his reputation, even Han Solo knew the value of having a good contingency plan.

It had been the theft of that money that had led himm and Chewie to go crawling to Jabba for the type of jobs that had eventually gotten them into the mess they were now in.

Chewie was right; they had to focus all of their attention on paying off this debt. Han knew that nothing else mattered and he would just have to forget about anything that might distract him from finding a way to get his and Chewie's necks off the block.

Finishing his drink, he made to leave the booth but stopped; glancing over at the sabaac table where Chewie was still holding court, he saw a new face had joined the crowd. A familiar face.

It had been a long time since he'd laid eyes on Javek Boyd. They'd done a few jobs together several years earlier and Han saw that Javek hadn't changed at all in the time that had passed since then; he still had his long hair tied back in an untidy knot, still had the same ragged beard, still wore the same worn and baggy spacer's garb.

Han watched as Javek looked up from the game and cast his eyes around the cantina, obviously looking for someone. When they landed on Han, he grinned and began to make his way over to the corner booth.

"I heard you were slumming it here on Tresta," he said when he reached the table. "You and Chewie still taking pleasure in relieving morons of their credits, I see."

Han gestured for Javek to take a seat across the small table.

"Just making a living," he replied smartly. "We can't all afford to be as charitable as you are these days, Javek."

Javek chuckled, signalling to the surly-faced bartender who poured an ale and had it brought to the table.

"So you heard about that, huh?" he asked before he fervently drank half of the large tankard, belching loudly as he then wiped the froth of the ale from his beard with his shirtsleeve. "Word travels fast I guess. You should know, Solo, that I am anything but charitable but I doubt even a lowlife like you would have taken payment from an aid organisation for delivering supplies to a refugee camp."

"Only 'cause Chewie would have stopped me."

Javek laughed. "Still playing the hard-nosed mercenary with a Wookie for a conscience, are you?"

"Playing? How dare you," replied Han in jest.

"It's admirable how committed you are to the act, it really is Han," said Javek. "But if you were as heartless as you wanted the rest of the galaxy to believe you are, you would have left me for dead back on Nimban."

Han had to concede that he had a point there. He thought back to the job that he and Chewie had teamed with Javek on, to smuggle a shipment of munitions off of Nimban and deliver them to Rovan Zadasso on Brentaal. They'd been just about to take off, the whole job having run surprisingly smoothly, when they'd been ambushed by a gang of Rodians that had wanted to take possession of the weapons. In the ensuing shootout, Javek had been wounded and Han had ended having to drag him aboard the _Falcon_ , putting his own life on the line in the process.

"Yeah well," he said grudgingly. "Don't go running your mouth about that in a place like this, I don't want anyone here to think I'm as soft as you've gotten."

Javek shook his head in amusement; still the same old Han Solo.

"So," he said, scratching distractedly at the grime on the tabletop with a fingernail. "How are things with you, Han?"

"About the same as they usually are."

Javek knew that that wasn't true. Not unless Han being in debt with a ruthless and sadistic gangster to the tune of several thousand credits had become something of a regular occurrence since they'd last seen each other

"I heard something about you having some problems with Jabba," he said. "Sounded serious."

"It is," admitted Han, shrugging carelessly. "But it's mine and Chewie's problem...nothing we can't handle."

Javek nodded and took another drink of his ale. That subject was one that Han clearly didn't want to go into in any sort of detail and so Javek didn't push the matter. If the things he'd heard were true then Han was doing anything but handling his situation with Jabba and, if the rumours emanating out of Tatooine were anything to go by, that situation was only about to get a lot more serious.

But Javek respected Han's reticence over it, particularly in a place like Tresta Outpost where there was no shortage of opportunists who wouldn't hesitate to take a shot at him and Chewie if they thought it might earn them a few credits from Jabba.

Having sought Han out, Javek supposed it was time he cut to the chase.

"Look," he began awkwardly, "I 'm glad I ran into you; I actually came looking for you when I heard you were here."

"Is that so?" Han was intrigued, as well as a little apprehensive; being purposely sought out by anyone had become something of a bad omen for him in recent months.

"I know we haven't seen each other in a while," Javek continued, "and that it's been a long time since Nimban. But I figured I still owe you for that; not many people would have come back for me after I got hurt."

"Forget about it," said Han, waving his hand through the air as though to brush the whole thing aside. "Like you said, it was a long time ago. You don't owe me anything." He paused. "Unless you have a few thousand spare credits, I wouldn't say no to those right now."

Javek chuckled. "Afraid not," he said. Casting a look around the cantina to check that none of the other patrons were close enough that they could eavesdrop on their conversation, he leaned in closer to the table that separated them and spoke in a quieter voice.

"I heard you had another problem, besides Jabba," he went on. "A personal arrangement that went bad about a year ago, a very costly one."

Han raised an eyebrow, very aware of what Javek was referring to and very curious as to why he was bringing it up.

After another nervous glance over his right shoulder, Javek spoke again in a conspiratorial tone. "A few weeks ago I got hired for a job...apparently I'd come highly recommended for it," he practically whispered. " _Very_ secretive...so secretive that I still don't know who it was that hired me. I wasn't even allowed to know what it was that I was carrying for them; they loaded it themselves without me getting a look. All I got given was coordinates for the drop off point and when I got there they kept me on my own ship until they'd unloaded whatever it was that I'd brought them."

Han couldn't even begin to guess where this was headed. "Fascinating as this is, Javek, what does any of it have to do with me?" he asked.

"I'm getting to it," hissed Javek. "When I got there, to the drop off, I got a little look at the operation they had going on and it looks serious; my best guess is that they're some kind of covert military group, maybe an Alliance cell given how under the radar they're trying to stay. I don't know. They didn't want me to see anything, just wanted to pay me my fee and send me on my way. But I did get a look at a couple of them and there was one person there that I recognised...an old friend of yours that I think you may have some unresolved issues with."

From a pocket on his frayed brown vest, Javek took out a datakey, placed it on the table and slid it toward Han. "It's not credits but, if what I've heard is right, I think this might still make us even for Nimban," he said.

Han picked up the datakey and slowly turned it over between his fingers. The noise of the cantina, of the raucous crowd around the sabaac table faded away; if Javek was being honest with him here, and Han couldn't recall ever giving Javek any incentive to want to deceive and double-cross him, then this would definitely make them even for Nimban.

"What's on here?" he asked, gesturing at the datakey.

"What they gave me, which isn't much," answered Javek. "But it will get you to where you need to go."

"And you're sure it's her?" Han had followed enough false leads over the past year to know not to get his hopes up now, even if this seemed to have been a recent sighting.

"Positive" answered Javek. "Her hair is shorter than I remembered but it was her, no question."

Han nodded, staring at the datakey. He felt his resolve to focus solely on the debt to Jabba begin to weaken almost immediately. But he wasn't going to rush headlong into whatever he might do next; he needed to think this through properly. And talk to Chewie.

"It's up to you whether you want to use that," said Javek, indicating the datakey. "But whoever she's running with these days, they really don't want to be found so don't expect a warm welcome."

"It's been a long time since anyone gave me any sort of warm welcome," Han retorted as he regarded Javek sceptically. "If they're so secretive then why did they let you just walk away?"

"They paid me a little extra to keep my mouth shut," answered Javek. "And I fully intended to do just that; whatever they're doing, I don't want any part of it. But I don't leave debts unsettled, even old ones. You helped me out once, this is me returning the favour."

"And I appreciate it," said Han, placing the datakey carefully into a pocket of his jacket.

Javek drained what was left of his ale and stood, tossing a single credit chip onto the table. "Whatever you decide to do with that thing," he said, inclining his head toward the pocket that now held the data key, "I hope everything works out for you."

"Yeah," said Han quietly, "me too."

"Tell Chewie I'll see him around." Javek offered a salute, a traditional spacers' farewell. "Take care of yourself Han," he said as he made for the cantina's exit, clapping Han once on his shoulder as he passed.

Once Javek had gone, Han's first thought was to immediately pull Chewie aside and talk this latest development through with him. He'd made a promise to his co-pilot back on Coruscant that there would be no more secrets and lies between them and had no intention of breaking that promise; he wasn't going to drag Chewie on another wild Bantha chase. Whatever they did next would be a mutual agreement, there would be no more taking advantage of Chewie's loyalty and trust.

And loud cheer went up from the sabaac table. Looking over, Han saw Chewie recline in his chair and brace both of his long arms behind his head with a broad grin; the Wookie was still winning.

Rather than interrupt that winning streak, Han decided to go back to the _Falcon,_ find some peace and quiet and think about what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it when Chewie got back to the ship later. Given the amount of credits he must have won tonight, Han reasoned it would best to have the conversation tonight, when Chewie was bound to be in a good mood.

* * *

Chewie was in a foul mood.

Han could tell from the moment he heard the Wookie stomping up the _Falcon's_ entrance ramp. From his seat at the banquette in the main hold, Han listened to his co-pilot storm down the ship's corridor, muttering angrily in undecipherable growls. He didn't seem to notice Han's presence as he stormed past and made for the galley where he rummaged loudly for a few moments before returning to the main hold with an empty glass and a large bottle filled with a golden-coloured liquid.

"You're drinking the Socorran brandy?" asked Han. "You're either really celebrating or had one hell of change of luck and want to forget all about it."

This particular brandy was extremely potent; a couple of sips were enough to pretty much knock Han out and, while Chewie had a higher threshold of inebriation given his size, it would still only take one full glass for him to be unable to remember his own name.

Chewie didn't respond immediately, simply poured a small measure of brandy into his glass and then glowered at it, bracing his elbow on the top of the Dejarik table and resting his chin in a large paw.

"You were on the best winning streak of your life before I left," said Han. "What happened?"

Chewie huffed as he took his first sip of the brandy and grimaced at the way it burned his throat as it went down. _"I lost it all,"_ he finally muttered quietly.

"All of it?" Han asked and Chewie nodded. "How much? I lost count of the hands you won so it had to have been at least a couple of thousand."

Chewie sighed. _"It was closer to four and a half thousand,"_ he grumbled.

"You lost nearly four and a half thousand?" Han thought it had to have been at least a fairly significant amount for the Wookie to be this angry but he couldn't fathom how his partner had managed to lose that much money, not when Chewie felt a constant need to remind him about the credits they owed to Jabba.

"Kest Chewie," Han murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. "How the hell did you manage to lose that many credits? "

" _It was not my fault,"_ groaned Chewie in a pitiful tone. _"It was a blasted Tognath! He insulted my honour, accused me of cheating. He challenged me to go all in on our last hand, double or nothing."_

"And you did?" Han couldn't believe that Chewie had fallen for one of the oldest ploys in gambling, had been conned like an amateur. "That's the oldest trick in the book," Han snapped. "You and your honour, you should taken the money and walked away."

" _Like you would have done that,"_ retorted Chewie. _You would have gone double or nothing and thrown in the Falcon for good measure if someone insulted you at the sabaac table like that Tognath insulted me!"_

"Don't try to turn this around on me!" Han warned, pointing his finger in Chewie's direction. "Everyone knows that the easiest way to wind up a Wookie is to insult their honour and you fell for it, you furry moron."

Chewie rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath, as though trying to keep his temper in check. _"Well, it is done now,"_ he huffed, taking another small drink of the brandy. _"I have forgiven you for doing things that were far worse than this so I hope you are not going to keep going on about it."_

"I might," Han said. "It's kind of nice to be the responsible one in this partnership for once, can't promise I won't make the most of it."

Chewie chuckled but his mood didn't change and, in spite of himself, Han felt his own anger abating. As much as the lost credits would have come in very handy in paying off their debt to Jabba, he had to admit that errors in judgement like this were extremely rare on Chewie's part. And it wasn't as though Han hadn't been in a similar situation himself in the past; he knew as well as anyone that being caught on a gambler's high could lead to some very bad, very reckless decisions.

"Look, just forget about it." When Chewie's demeanour showed no signs of brightening, Han clasped him on his broad shoulder. "I'm serious pal. So you screwed up; there's a first time for everything, right? Let's just put it down to a lesson learned and move on, huh?"

Chewie looked at him mournfully. _"We really needed those credits,"_ he moaned quietly.

"Ah," said Han nonchalantly, "we'll find 'em elsewhere. No big deal."

It was a big deal, no matter how nonchalant he was being for Chewie's sake. And he was sure that the next time he got them both into trouble and getting a lecture for it, Han wouldn't hesitate to remind Chewie about tonight and how understanding he was being now. But he wasn't going to dwell on it; the credits were gone and yelling at Chewie, making the Wookie feel any worse about that than he clearly already did, wouldn't change that.

Besides, there was a more pressing matter on his mind that he was hoping to discuss with Chewie.

"Actually, before you drink yourself into oblivion with that stuff," he said, inclining his head at what remained of the brandy, "there's something I need to talk to you about."

Chewie paused with his glass halfway to his mouth and narrowed his eyes, regarding Han suspiciously.

" _I do not like the sound of that,"_ he muttered. _"And I am assuming that it has got something to do with whatever you were discussing with Javek?"_

Han nodded. From the seat beside him, he retrieved the datapad on which he'd been reading the information that had been stored on the datakey that Javek had given him back in the cantina. He passed it to Chewie and waited, tapping his hands against the Dejarik table, while Chewie's eyes quickly scrolled through it.

Once he'd finished, Chewie scratched his head in confusion. _"What is this?"_ he asked, motioning at the datapad.

"Those are coordinates."

" _Yes, I can see that,"_ replied Chewie shortly. _"But coordinates to where?"_

Han took a deep breath and exhaled, steeling himself for a possible argument.

"Answers...I hope."

It took a moment for the realisation of what he meant to dawn on Chewie and when it did, the Wookie's reaction was immediate. He frowned and bared his teeth in irritation, then folded his long arms, which was the obvious giveaway that he was not happy.

"Before you say anything," Han said quickly, heading off a possible angry response from his partner, "I made you a promise back on Coruscant; no more secrets or lies. I said that I would talk through everything with you from now and wouldn't do anything without you being on board with it. So, this is me keeping my word and putting all my cards on the table."

Chewie didn't say anything. He slowly slid his glass back and forth across the tabletop and scratched his chin, seemingly deep in thought and giving no indications of whether or not he appreciated Han's transparency in this instance, let alone whether this was a conversation he wanted to have any part in.

Nonetheless, Han knew that it was time for him to straighten out some of the misconceptions he knew that Chewie had over this subject.

"Look," he began quietly. "I figured it's about time you and I have a proper talk about this stuff, a real discussion. Cause I know there's some things that you're got wrong and that's my fault."

Chewie looked at him for a few seconds before nodding his head once, indicating that Han should continue.

Emboldened, Han took a breath and continued.

"You've had the wrong idea about this whole thing from the start," he said. "I've known that all along but I let it go because it meant that I could get away with not having this talk six months ago when you really started to get pissed with me about it all."

" _And what wrong idea is that?"_ asked Chewie.

"That I'm some sort of pathetic idiot chasing after a woman that conned me because I want to get her back," Han answered. "I know that's what you think, that this is about her."

" _Is it not?"_

"Not really," said Han. "I mean, it has a lot to do with her, obviously. But it's more about what she did than it is about me chasing after her, for her. Does that make sense?"

Chewie shrugged in answer. _"A little,"_ he murmured. _"But go on."_

This was where Han came unstuck whenever he had planned this conversation out in his head over the past year. He knew what he wanted to say, why he'd persisted with this chase for so long and allowed Chewie to live with a mistaken assumption of what his motivations were. But the challenge of verbalising it had kept him from being as candid and as honest as he knew he should been long ago.

He settled on an example that he hoped would explain himself properly.

"It's like this," he said. "Let's say it was someone else that had stolen that money from us...someone we both know like...Lando, let's say Lando conned us, stole our money and then ran off. How would I have reacted? What would I have done?"

" _You would have gone after him,"_ Chewie answered simply. _"And when we found him, I would have torn his arms off."_

Ignoring that last part of the answer, Han seized on Chewie's correct initial response to his question.

"Exactly!" he said. "I'd have gone after him. I wouldn't have just shrugged it all off, forgotten about it all and moved on. You can't do that, right? In this galaxy, if someone you trust cons and steals from you then you do something about it, you settle the score. But, when it all happened, it was like you and everyone else just expected me to forget about everything because of who it was that had done the conning and stealing, just brush it all off...and that didn't sit right with me."

Chewie huffed in response. He had put on his sabaac face again and was giving nothing away when it came to how he felt about this explanation.

" _So none of it has anything to do with your feelings for her?"_ he growled in a sceptical tone.

"No," answered Han firmly. "I mean, I loved her; a part of me will probably always love her after everything we went through. But that doesn't mean I _like_ her now after how it all ended, after what she did. And I sure as hell wouldn't ever trust her again."

Chewie didn't look convinced.

"Come on, pal," Han implored. "You know me better than that, Chewie. It's not about her and me. It isn't even just about the money she stole; it's what happened later on. We were so desperate to make it all back that we went back to Jabba, started smuggling spice because we knew how well it paid and look where that got us. It's her fault we're in this mess now with Jabba, it all started with what she did; do you really think that I would just forget all of that and chase her like some lovesick idiot?"

The Wookie turned Han's argument over in his mind and had to admit that it made sense. For all his bluster, Han had strong principles, which was why Chewie had spent so long struggling to understand why his partner had been so preoccupied with finding a woman that had betrayed him in such a manner.

But now Chewie was beginning to understand, to see things for what they were. And he felt tremendous relief that the two of them were finally making some headway in resolving this issue that had dragged on for far too long. He only wished that Han had said all of this months ago.

" _Okay_ , _"_ he said, _"I believe you. So where do these coordinates that Javek gave you play into this?"_

"He saw her," Han answered and Chewie sighed in frustration. "I know, we've heard all this before and gotten nowhere," he continued quickly, not wanting this progress they were making come to nothing. "But this was recent, on a smuggling run that Javek was doing. He knows her, he'd recognise her, and he says those coordinates will get us to where she is."

Chewie read the datapad again. He didn't know off the top of his head where exactly these coordinates would lead but he could deduce that it wasn't far from Tresta Outpost, perhaps a couple of systems away. This wouldn't be like before, when they'd crossed from one side of the galaxy to the other on the pretence of Han having heard about work opportunities that would be of interest of them. And, given that he considered Javek a friend, he saw no reason to suspect that the information that Han had been given might be incorrect or distrustful. All things considered, following up on this lead would be straightforward and Chewie did appreciate that this time he knew exactly what they'd be pursuing and why, that Han was sticking to the promise he'd made on Coruscant and being honest about his intentions.

" _So if we follow this trail and find that it is not another dead end,"_ he said in a neutral tone so that his position in this particular discussion was not weakened, _"what then?"_

"I get the answers I want," replied Han simply.

" _And is that all you want? If she tells you what you want to know, why she did what she did, will it settle the score? Will that be enough for you to get on with your life and forget about her?"_

Those questions were ones that Han had asked himself many times without ever settling on an answer. The truth was that he didn't know what would be enough and that a part of him was just as curious as Chewie to find out.

But that could wait; the first step was finding her.

"I dunno," he answered finally and honestly. "I guess I'll figure that out if we find her."

Chewie wasn't happy with that answer, didn't like Han's evasiveness. If they were tracking anyone else, someone like Lando to use the example that Han had earlier, Chewie suspected that Han wouldn't hesitate to use violence to settle this particular score. And Chewie would not have blamed him for doing; that _was_ the way of the galaxy, particularly in their profession.

But he couldn't imagine Han resorting to such extreme measures in this instance, given who they were chasing.

"I'm not going to ask you to do anything you don't want, pal" said Han quietly. "I mean that. Like I said earlier, I'm just putting all of my cards on the table here. I didn't go looking for a lead this time, it fell into my hands and now I'm leaving it up to you to decide what we do with it."

A part of Chewie wanted to tell Han to forget about this, that their time and energy needed to be focused solely on paying back the debt they owed to Jabba, cursing himself again for his foolishness at the sabaac table earlier that night.

But then he reasoned that there had to be some sort of resolution to this saga. As much as he believed that Han was being genuine in promising to go along with whatever decision that he made now, Chewie also knew that the past would just continue to eat away at Han, that the unanswered questions would torment him even if they did just go on with their lives and careers and never spoke about this matter again.

So he arrived at a compromise.

" _We will go there,"_ he said, indicating the coordinates on the datapad. _"You have been honest with me, just as you said you would be, so we will follow this lead."_

Han looked more relieved that grateful but before he could respond, Chewie had something else to say.

" _But this is the last time, Han,"_ he warned. _"I meant what I said on Coruscant too - this has to end. If these coordinates do lead us to her then we will get your answers. But if this is another false lead, that will be the end of this...we will move on, fix things with Jabba and forget all about her."  
_

Relief gave way to visible weariness. But Han was a deal maker, had been for as long as Chewie had known him, so he was quick to realise that this was an opportunity he needed to take.

"I give you my word," he promised, offering his hand for his partner to shake and Chewie was satisfied that both of them were now finally back on a level footing with one another. Whatever happened next, he felt new optimism that once it had been dealt with they would both be back on the right path, ready to move into the future with no secrets and renewed focus on what was important.

He looked ruefully at his unfinished tumbler of brandy and supposed grudgingly that he had better not drink any more of it if they were going to be leaving Tresta imminently.

"Sorry pal," Han chuckled, noticing where Chewie's stare was regretfully directed. "I'll buy you a drink once we've taken care of this."

" _I will hold you to that,"_ Chewie muttered. _"You usually disappear whenever it is your turn to buy the drinks."_

Han laughed as he stood up and walked across the main hold to the technical station, initiating a scan of the _Falcon's_ diagnostics in preparation for their departure. "I've already ran those coordinates through the navicomputer, it's only a short jump from here to where we're headed. Once these scans are done and the engines have warmed up, we can get off this scrapheap."

Chewie grumbled in compliance, standing and stretching. _"Where is it that we are headed?"_ he asked as he made for the cockpit access corridor.

"Some place I've never been to," answered Han, still working at the technical station. "Small planet called Ranolta."


	7. Chapter 7

_7_

Han could not believe that he'd been so stupid, so careless, in getting himself caught up in yet another disaster from which he saw no means of escape.

As was so often the case, he knew now that he should have listened to Chewie when they'd landed on Ranolta, accepted that there were simply too many risks, too many potential flaws in his plan. Armed with what little information Javek had given him back on Tresta, aware that the group he was looking for was one that would not welcome being found, Han had known that wandering around the ruins of an abandoned industrial complex in search of them was needlessly reckless. But he had been so set on finishing what he had began so many months earlier, fixated on the possibility that he was _so close_ to putting an end to this search that had preoccupied a year of his life, that he had wilfully ignored his own better judgement.

The _Falcon's_ logs had given him a fairly good idea of what he would find on Ranolta; evidently the ship had travelled to the planet at some point before it had fallen into Han and Chewie's hands. Ranolta had been something of an industrial metropolis back in its heyday, until the chaos of the Clone Wars had brought about the collapse of its economy; the major corporations had moved their production lines elsewhere in the galaxy, far away from the conflict. Consequently, the smaller companies had eventually gone out of business, leading opportunistic junk dealers to flock to Ranolta from every corner of the universe to greedily claim everything that had been left behind, stripping the abandoned office complexes and factories of anything of any value.

Spiting up with Chewie had proven to be a remarkably poor choice on Han's part. But at the time he'd suggested it, it had made sense; the compound that Javek's coordinates had led them to, the one that long ago been the site of the Mavradok Munitions Corporation, was so vast that it would have taken a full day to search right through the place had they stuck together. So he'd started on one side and sent Chewie to the other, planning that they'd meet in the middle of the compound and could just comm one another if either of them came across what, or whom, they were searching for.

And this time, Han really thought that they had come close.

Someone had been at the compound, and recently. It looked as though they'd been holed up in one of the main office buildings, one with a landing platform near the roof that Han presumed had been where their suppliers like Javek had set down when they'd come here. There'd been dead power cells scattered throughout the upper floors that Han had searched through, along with broken fragments of mechanical parts and discarded tools; nothing that would offer any clue as to who the temporary occupants had been, nor where they had now gone.

He had been ready to give up, comm Chewie and tell him to go back to the _Falcon_ , when he'd been jumped.

Han had counted at least seven of them, all male humans outfitted in what appeared to be some sort of military fatigue. They'd fired at him with the intent to stun rather than kill so they had obviously wanted him alive. He'd managed to get the better of a couple of them by taking out a rusted ceiling support with his own blaster that had brought half of the place crashing down around them all. Having then made it to a stairwell, he'd thought that he might just have been able to get away; he'd lost his comm in the struggle and so he hadn't been able to call for Chewie's help. He'd only made it down a couple of floors when one of them had ambushed him at a doorway and hit him across the head with some sort of baton.

When he'd come to, Han had found himself in what appeared to be a holding cell.

He was cuffed and his binders had been secured to a metal desk in the centre of the room. His blaster was gone and he thought that if the idiots who'd attacked him had any common sense, they'd have looked for other weapons and likely found the vibroblade that he kept concealed within his right boot.

Someone had already been in to talk to him but they'd abandoned their interrogation fairly quickly when it had become apparent that Han was in no mood to answer any of their questions. That had been a while ago, probably close to an hour now, and Han imagined that , whoever these people were, they were probably deciding what to do with him now.

 _Chewie always said that this search would be the death of me_ , he thought bitterly.

Han hoped that his co-pilot was unharmed and had made it back to the _Falcon_. The guy that had spoken to him already hadn't mentioned anything about a Wookie and Han wasn't stupid enough to offer any sort of indication that he hadn't come to Ranolta alone. Not that Chewie could help him now, even if he had managed to avoid getting caught by whoever these people were.

There didn't appear to be a way out of this for himself.

He knew what he _could_ do, the one glimmer of hope he had in an otherwise fairly desperate situation.

If Javek had been right, if Bria was here, Han knew that he could have just asked her to vouch for him, tell her friends that he wasn't any sort of threat to them. The idea of asking Bria for any kind of help made him feel a little sick, but any help that she could offer him out of the mess he'd found himself in would have gone at least _some_ way to making up for what she'd done to him and Chewie. It wouldn't atone for everything, not by a long shot, but it would have had to be enough.

Because that would be it. He'd made a promise to Chewie back on Tresta that he was going to keep. If Han could get out of his current predicament, make it back to the _Falcon_ and off of Ranolta _,_ he was getting on with his life. It wouldn't matter if he ever got the answers he wanted or not, it was time to move past it all.

He was done.

* * *

Bail Organa had been ready to depart Ranolta, to get back to the more pressing matters of urgency that awaited him on Alderaan. The issues that had prompted him to take matters at the base into his own hands had been dealt with quickly, the command staff taken to task. While they'd wasted time squabbling amongst themselves, unable to agree on anything, they'd squandered their opportunity to deal with the militant group that had been the cause of their infighting; its members had vanished from right under the Alliance's noses, moved on from the planet.

Everything on Ranolta, as far as Bail was concerned, had been resolved.

And then, just as he had been about to board _Tantive IV,_ word had reached the base that an Alliance security patrol had apprehended a _'hostile'_ at the compound in which the militant group had been based.

From what Bail could gather, it had required quite an effort to subdue the individual in question so that he could be taken into Alliance custody; there were four officers currently being treated in the base's medcentre for various injuries they'd suffered in their encounter with him, the unit's head of security, Lieutenant Sivo Tarnat, among them. An attempt had been made to interrogate the suspect but they had yet to offer any indication that they were prepared to cooperate. And, satisfied that the base's staff could handle this matter themselves, Bail had seen no reason to delay his return to Alderaan any further.

Until it was mentioned to him that the suspect had the Corellian Bloodstripe.

Bail didn't dare to believe that it was possible, that such an unlikely coincidence could occur. It almost didn't seem worth investigating any further, not when it was so unlikely that this individual that Tarnat and his men had captured on Ranolta could be the same one that had crossed paths so fatefully with Leia days earlier on Coruscant. It simply seemed too improbable that having committed such a selfless act, he would now stumble into the crosshairs of the Alliance, would surface as a member of an extremist militant sect.

But Bail had had to know for certain, one way or the other.

He had needed to be sure.

* * *

When the cell door opened again, a different man to the one that had questioned Han earlier entered the room.

Whereas the first man had been pale and skinny in stature, this one was tan-skinned and tall. He looked stately, Han thought, as though he were a person of some significance, straight-backed and well he was wearing a cape, which, in the circles that Han ran in, was typically regarded as a symbol of status and influence, although most of the beings that ran in the same circles as Han didn't have the presence to really carry the look off.

This man, whoever he was, did have that presence.

He was carrying a small metal mug of something that smelled like fresh caf, which he placed on the desk close to Han. Then, without a word, he took a key from his belt and silently unlocked Han's binders, freeing him to move again.

 _Is this some kind of reverse psychology interrogation technique?_ Han wondered, rolling his stiff shoulders and gently massaging the raw skin of both of his wrists.

The man took a seat on the opposite side of the desk, arranging his moss-coloured cape so that it fell neatly across his shoulders. He clasped his hands together, resting his elbows on the desk. For a moment, he simply looked at Han and Han looked back at him, unblinkingly and defiantly, in a silent standoff. And then the man smiled genially.

"I've just come from the medcentre," he said. "You made quite the first impression on several of our officers but, thankfully, no lasting damage was done to any of them." He glanced pointedly at the bruise on the side of Han's forehead, where he'd been struck earlier with the baton. "Are you alright?"

Han simply shrugged in response.

"We'd have preferred to just stun you," the man continued lightly. "Taken the quicker and painless course of action but, from what Lieutenant Tarnat tells me, you made that impossible." He gestured at the mug of caf. "You should drink that, before it goes cold."

Han remained still in his seat.

But the man was apparently undeterred by the display of steadfast and stubborn reticence he was faced with. "My name is Bail Organa," he said, extending his hand across the desk, offering it to Han to shake. And when Han showed no signs of doing so, he chuckled quietly. "I don't know what passes as a greeting custom wherever come from from but, on my planet, this is the part of the introduction where you shake my hand and tell me who you are."

In spite of himself, Han laughed. Whoever this Bail Organa was, he seemed to have a sense of humour, a kind of wit that Han could appreciate. Throwing caution to the wind, somewhat against his own better judgement, he accepted the handshake.

"Han Solo."

Bail inclined his head in acknowledgment. Once they'd shaken hands, he leaned forward slightly in his seat while Han slouched a little further back in his own. "If you wouldn't mind, Han Solo, I was hoping that you and I might talk...get to know one another a little."

Han smirked. "That so?" he replied and Bail nodded. "Didn't your pal that was in here earlier tell you that I'm not really one for conversation? 'Specially with people that attack me and take me prisoner for no good reason."

Bail's smile widened slightly in amusement

"Well," he answered, "we certainly have very good reason for wanting to speak with you. And in regards to _us_ attacking _you..._ well, you did far more damage to our officers than was done to you. But perhaps we can both come to some sort of understanding that will allow us to move on from that earlier misunderstanding." Han simply folded his arms defiantly but Bail was undeterred. "You could start by telling me why you are here on Ranolta, what you were doing at that compound where we found you, and in turn I can tell you why it was of interest to us."

" _Or,"_ replied Han pointedly, "we can shelve this interrogation, you can let me go and I'll promise not to breathe a word about your little operation here to anyone."

Bail chuckled. "This is not an interrogation, Han, I can assure you," he said. "If it were, one of our intelligence officers would be sitting in this seat and they would be far less patient and polite towards you than I am prepared to be." He reached across the desk for the untouched mug of caf he'd initially offered to Han and began to drink from it. "It's a sin to waste good caf," he declared.

"Not in the mood for caf," Han retorted. "Wouldn't say to a whiskey if you've got any, though."

"So you're a whiskey man?" asked Bail conversationally. "That is one thing that you and I have in common. Tell me, have you ever sampled Rothbard's Vintage? It's an Alderaanian brand, one that comes from a distillery in Juranno. My daughter gives me a bottle every year for my birthday and it is really superb, the best whiskey in the galaxy in my estimation."

"Oh really?" said Han, mock interest evident in his tone. "Well, it looks like I might be here a while so you why don't you fly on over to Alderaan, grab a bottle and bring it back here for me to try? I'd really appreciate that. And if I tell you _my_ birthday, do you think your daughter would be sweet enough to send _me_ a bottle every year too?"

That provoked another bark of laughter from Bail before he drank more caf. "Of course," he eventually replied, having seemingly elected to ignore Han's flippancy, "good whiskey is a particularly famous export of your own planet, isn't it? Although, I must admit that most of the Corellian brands that I've sampled have been a bit too strong for my own tastes."

From the way that Han quirked an eyebrow, Bail intuited what he was thinking.

"I assume that you must be a Corellian to have the Bloodstripe," he said by way of explanation. "From what I understand that is a very prestigious honour."

"I might have heard that myself somewhere," muttered Han with a casual shrug.

"There must be quite a story behind how you received yours," continued Bail.

"There is but I'm not much of a storyteller."

"I am beginning to understand that," replied Bail with a wry grin. "How about this then - why don't you ask me a question first? I imagine you must have several given the predicament in which you have found yourself in here. So, you ask me something, anything you'd like to know, and I will answer honestly. In return, I will then ask you a question which you will also answer honestly...would that be agreeable to you?"

Han considered the offer for a moment, mentally calculating his options. His instinct was to refuse, tell this Bail character, if that was even his real name, to stop wasting both of their time. But Han had made enough deals in his life to know when someone was being straight with him and would keep their word. And he could sense that Bail was making a genuine offer here. The only thing that Han couldn't decide now was how honest he was prepared to be in answering Bail's questions.

"Alright," he eventually answered. Han moved closer to the desk and mimicked Bail's relaxed stance, his first question already in mind. "Where you from?"

One of Bail's eyebrows rose slightly, as thought that was not the question he'd been expecting Han to ask. "Alderaan," he answered. "I am the Viceroy of Alderaan."

 _I knew I recognised this guy from somewhere,_ Han thought. He had no real interest in or affinity for galactic politics but now he realised that Bail Organa had once represented Alderaan in the Senate, could remember him from some HoloNet news reports he'd seen way back when he was a kid on Corellia. That suspicion had nagged at Han since Bail first walked into the room, a vague recollection of having seen his face before.

And it explained why he was apparently something of an expert on Alderaanian whiskey.

Now it was Bail's turn to ask a question.

"What brought you to Ranolta, Han?"

"Business," Han replied simply.

"And what line of business is it that you're in?"

Han grinned and wagged a finger dismissively. "I believe it's my turn to ask you a question now, Viceroy."

Bail chuckled and bowed his head in concession. "And so it is," he said quietly, gesturing for Han to proceed.

"What's going on here that you don't want anyone to know about?" Han figured that, if Bail was pledging honesty, it was time to cut to the chase and find out who had jumped him back at the compound and was holding him hostage now.

And he couldn't deny that he wasn't curious to know what exactly Bria had gotten herself mixed up in since he'd last seen her.

Bail made to answer and then paused. He silently scrutinised Han, rubbing his hands together absently, and Han found himself intrigued. The Viceroy's calm and composed demeanour, the one he'd affected since he'd walked into the cell, was wavering slightly, only for a moment. For the first time since their little exchange had begun, Han thought that he might just be about to gain the upper hand, that this question would test just how honest Bail was prepared to be with him.

"This particular facility is a reconnaissance base," Bail eventually replied, having settled on his answer. "And the reason we do not want anyone to know that it is here is because this base, along with all of its personnel, is affiliated with the Rebel Alliance."

 _So Javek was right,_ Han mused, _this group on Ranolta is an Alliance cell._ He didn't know a lot about the Rebellion, only that it was causing a lot of problems for the Empire and that the Imperial propaganda machine was portraying it as little more than a terrorist insurrection. Though he suspected that that was not actually the case, Han nonetheless had no time or patience for revolutions; he hated the Empire, had more right than a lot of beings in the galaxy to do so, but he wasn't stupid or naive enough to think that going to war with the might of the Imperial Navy was anything other than suicidal, a death wish.

"I know you said you'd be honest Viceroy but you're taking one hell of a risk telling me something like that," he replied. "The Empire is offering a lot of credits for information on you and your pals here."

"I am well aware, on both counts of that statement," said Bail, his eyes turned down to his hands on the desk, distractedly twisting the chronometer he wore around his left wrist. "But I said that I would answer your questions honestly and so I am prepared to to take that risk."

"And hope I don't sell you out?"

"Well, if you give me any reason to believe that you might intend to _'_ _sell us out',_ as you put it, then neither I nor the Alliance would have any incentive to ever let you go," retorted Bail. "And I believe that you have now just asked two questions without me getting to ask one so it would only be proper, under the terms of our agreement, for me to now ask two questions of my own...agreed?"

He was right and so Han nodded in acquiescence

"Then firstly, I would like to know what business brought you here," Bail said. "And, given how candid I've been with my own answers, I'd appreciate something a bit more substantial than what you've told me so far."

This was where Han knew he would have to tread very carefully. His instinct in situations like this was not to lie but to deflect, be as purposely vague and frustrating as possible so that the person asking the questions would get frustrated enough that they'd give up on their line of enquiry. He had two priorities now: ensuring that he didn't say anything that might implicate in whatever was happening on Ranolta and, more importantly, protect Chewie.

But, he had to appreciate just how honest Bail was being with him - far more so than Han had initially expected him to be. He'd played enough cards in his life to recognise that Organa was making some sort of play here, was building toward something. Whatever that was remained to be seen but Han now saw no reason to be dishonest in answering Bail's first question.

"Look, Viceroy," Han finally answered, sighing in what sounded to Bail like resignation. "If you wanna know why I'm here, just go talk to Bria, tell her Han Solo is here and she'll explain everything. Trust me, I've got no interest in whatever you and your Rebellion are doing here, I just came here to talk to Bria."

"Bria?"

"Yeah, Bria," Han replied. "Bria Tharen. I know she's here 'cause the guy who sent me on my way to this planet saw her at that compound. So you don't have to cover for her or pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about, just go talk to her and she'll straighten this whole thing out for you."

"I can assure you Han that I've never heard of anyone named Bria Tharen," said Bail. "There are four females stationed at this facility and none of them, as far as I am aware, are named Bria. But I think now that I am beginning to understand why you are here...what you perhaps expected to find on this planet."

Han regarded the viceroy skeptically. "That right?" he asked and Bail nodded. "Well then Viceroy, what was it that you reckon I was expecting to find here?"

"The same group that we've been tracking," Bail answered simply.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Han was beginning to become agitated by this back and forth. "What the hell are you talking about now?"

"Your friend, the one you're searching for, might not have been with us but I do believe that she was most likely here," said Bail. "You see Han, we've been monitoring a group of what we believe to be extremist militants - anarchists, essentially, that would like to be perceived by the rest of the galaxy as patriots striking out against the political and social establishments. This particular group was using that compound as a base, was taking shipments of supplies while our command staff were squabbling over what to do about them."

"Wait a second." Han tried to get his head around what Bail was telling him, understand the implications. "Are you saying...that Bria is some sort of... _extremist_?" When Bail nodded, Han couldn't restrain his laughter. "You're crazy," he chuckled. "Trust me, Bria is a lot of things but she ain't violent and she sure as hell ain't no anarchist."

"And yet you say that the person who directed you to come to Ranolta saw her at that compound," replied Bail. "She's certainly not a member of our unit, as you seemed to have assumed she was, and I can think of no other reason as to why she might have been there."

 _He really is crazy_ , thought Han. The idea that Bria would be involved in the kind of thing that Bail was suggesting was insane; he could have bought Bria taking up with the Rebellion, she had that damn idealistic streak that had gotten her, and Han, into trouble more than once over the years. But Bria wasn't violent, she simply didn't have that edge to her. Sure, she had a temper and was more than capable of defending herself if she needed to, but she just wasn't a violent person.

"So," said Bail, "we've established why you are here on Ranolta. Now, to my second question - did you come here alone?"

This was where Han knew he would have to tread very carefully. His instinct in situations like this was not to lie but to deflect, be as purposely vague and frustrating as possible so that the person asking the questions would get frustrated enough that they'd give up on their line of enquiry. But, he had to appreciate just how honest Bail was being with him; far more so than Han would have ever expected him to be. He'd played enough cards in his life to recognise that Organa was making some sort of play here, was building toward something. He just couldn't begin to guess what that might be.

"No," he answered. "I didn't come here alone."

"And where is your accomplice now? "

Han shrugged.

"Are they a business partner of sorts?" Bail persisted. "Would they leave you here if they knew that you'd been apprehended?"

Han chuckled. "You know anything about Wookies, Viceroy? They're about as loyal a being as you can find in this galaxy. There's about as much chance of me signing up to your revolution as there is of Chewie taking off and leaving me here."

"Your partner is a Wookie?" asked Bail. "Well, that is an unusual arrangement...but a very interesting one."

Han didn't like the expression on Bail's face, the way that he was now grinning; it was the kind of look that Han had seen many times around a Sabaac table, the telling one that a player wore when they knew that they had a winning hand.

"Yeah, my partner is a Wookie," he grunted insolently. "What does that matter to you?"

Bail narrowed his eyes, rolling the thumb and index finger of his right hand together pensively. _Here it comes,_ realised Han, _he's about to make his play._

"It matters," said Bail, "because I was curious as to whether you would like to contact before your partner before you leave?"

"Leave?" Han asked, really not liking where this was headed. Bail nodded. "And where is it I'm going?"

"To Alderaan," answered Bail simply. "I have a business proposal that I would very much like to discuss with you."


	8. Chapter 8

_It's a relief to get this chapter out of the way and get to the reunion. There are parts of these opening eight chapters that feel a bit brief to me when I read them back, where I feel like I could have taken a little bit more time and fleshed them out a little more; Han and Chewie's interaction in this chapter being one of those parts, But I'm relieved to have gotten to this point where the story can really move forward now. And I've got so many ideas in mind for what is going to happen to Han and Leia from this point that I figure it will make up for any parts of these opening chapters that I'm not entirely happy with._

 _Thank you to everyone for reading so far, I really appreciate the comments that this story has gotten._

* * *

 _8_

Though she would never have admitted it to anyone else, there were brief moments when Leia felt some regret at having taken up a political career at such a young age.

Her passion for politics had not and would never diminish, her commitment to bringing about the demise of tyranny would never falter. But there were nonetheless moments in which her hatred of all of the backstabbing and subterfuge really tested her resolve. She hadd known what she was getting into when she put herself forward to succeed her father in the Senate; that didn't make any of it any easier to tolerate.

She would return to Coruscant under yet more media scrutiny after Orn Free Taa's latest outburst on the HoloNet, announcing to reporters on the capital planet that he had evidence which implicated Leia as a Rebel spy in the Senate and calling for her to be placed under immediate investigation.

And then last night, a contact of Winter's within the media network on Coruscant had covertly sent a report to Alderaan that outlined a recent clandestine meeting of the Senate Ethics Committee in which Yat Ferrio had proposed a plan to sabotage Leia's career, to plant false evidence that would tie her to the Rebellion and so make her position in the Senate untenable.

Dealing with such characters could be exhausting and infuriating in equal measure.

Leia wanted to represent a hopeful new age for the galaxy while the likes of Orn Free Taa symbolised everything that she set herself against; corruption, self-serving ambition and ruthless greed.

While scores of young female Twi'lek were being abducted on Ryloth, trafficked into slavery and prostitution, Taa was leading an affluent and gluttonous lifestyle on Coruscant, had done so for thirty years having sold his loyalty and his soul to the highest and more powerful bidder. He had no evidence to support his allegations against her, Leia knew that, Taa was simply doing what he was told by his Imperial paymasters and postulating lies in an attempt to stop public opinion swaying in her favour.

The prospect of having to endure further attacks on her character, having her principles derided and dismissed as idealistic fantasies by such a duplicitous and abhorrent individual made Leia feel a little nauseous.

So, as she always did whenever she was in need of a distraction, Leia immersed herself in work.

Having woken before dawn, she'd ventured out on to her terrace and watched the sunrise over the snow-capped mountains that surrounded Aldera, savouring the sweet scent of the Arallutes that wound around a wooden trellis. With datapads strewn across a small table, Leia then began to read through the latest reports being broadcast across the new networks, relieved to find no further mention of herself in any of them. She was reading through the third draft of her proposal for an inquiry into the Outer Rim superweapon tests, fine-tuning it ahead of putting it forward in the next meeting of the Senate, when she was joined by her mother.

Since her father's departure for Ranolta, Leia hadn't seen a lot of her mother around the palace. She knew that Breha was ill, recovering from some form of virus that Niram Mellorn, the head physician on the royal staff, said was worse than had first been anticipated but would eventually pass with time and rest.

Time and rest had, so far, seemed to have been of little benefit.

There was almost a yellow-tinged pallor to her mother's complexion. She looked drawn, tired; the glow, the fire that normally radiated from her russet-coloured eyes seemed to have dimmed. And though she tried to mask it, every movement that Breha made caused her to grimace slightly with exertion.

Following behind her was See-Threepio, a protocol droid that had been in service to the Organa family since before Leia's birth. He was carrying a tray on which a steaming pot and two cups rested, that he placed carefully on the table before giving a short bow to Leia and Breha in turn and shuffling off, leaving mother and daughter alone.

"You know," said Breha, pouring tea into each of the cups, "sometimes I really miss the mornings that you and I used to share before you got involved in politics. Now, it always feels like I'm interrupting something, wittering on about things that don't really matter in the grander scheme of life while you'd much rather be working."

"That's never been true," Leia replied, pushing aside the datapads and accepting the tea that her mother offered. "I've never thought that, not once."

Breha smiled. "I know," she said as she slowly and somewhat laboriously lowered herself into the cushioned seat next to Leia's. "Just ignore me...you'll learn for yourself one day that it's never easy watching your children grow up...no matter how proud of them you'll be, you will still miss the times when life seemed so much more carefree and innocent...when you were once the centre of their universe."

Leia wasn't sure her own life had ever been carefree or innocent, not when it had been spent with the spectre of a future in politics and the Rebellion lingering ever-present on the horizon. But she knew that her mother harboured different hopes for her future beyond war and insurrections, hopes that Leia might find room time for love and, eventually, a family of her own.

It wasn't that Leia didn't want those things herself. But she simply had other priorities in her life for the moment; the betterment of the galaxy had to take preference over any of her own ambitions for more personal fulfilment.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Leia asked. "Niram said that the virus you have is worse than she'd first thought."

"Oh, it's nothing," answered Breha, swiping her hand through the air dismissively. "It will pass eventually but there are only so many hours of the day that I can spend resting before I start to feel like I'm slowly losing my mind, staring at the same four walls. And I haven't seen very much of you since you got home, I didn't want to miss having one of our morning talks before you have to return to Coruscant."

Leia was grateful that her mother had summoned the energy for one of their talks this morning; it was one of the rare occasions when she welcomed the opportunity for a momentary respite from her work and the tumult of thoughts and concerns she was trying to keep in check.

"I must warn you," said Breha, sipping her tea slowly, "that your aunts are very upset with you...your behaviour in the last Senate sessions was, I am told, completely unbecoming of a young woman in your position. Aunt Rouge says that you are snarling like a Nexu at Senator Drask in one of the images that was published on the HoloNet."

Leia laughed. She knew that her combative conduct in the Senate was a cause of great consternation for her three aunts, all of whom thought that Leia would make a far better impression on her colleagues and the public if she remembered more of the lessons in elocution that they'd given her when she was younger.

"Perhaps Aunt Rouge could debate Fordia Drask in my place and then she might understand why it is sometimes so difficult to simply smile and nod while you are being belittled and insulted in full view of the entire galaxy," she replied smartly.

"Rest assured that I said something very similar to her," said Breha. "Unfortunately, your aunts do not fully appreciate everything that you have to contend with in the Senate...your father never had to endure such awful treatment as you do."

"It's nothing that I cannot handle," Leia said. "If I allowed myself to be intimidated by the likes of Drask, lost courage in any of my convictions because of them, I might as well resign my seat now."

Breha smiled and reached across to take Leia's hand, squeezing gently.

"You do not have to convince me of anything, Leia," she said quietly. "I believe in you...I always have and I _know_ that that you are going to make this galaxy better."

Leia had to reign in a sudden swell of emotion at that. She knew that she had the unwavering love and support of her parents, that they did believe in her and her work even if both had expressed some concerns at her entering into politics at the age that she had. But in moments like this, when the burden of having to deal with the likes of Orn Free Taa began to weigh heavily on her, it meant everything to simply be reassured that, if politics were to ever go away, she'd still have mornings like this to look forward to, she'd still have the comforting shelter of her family and of Alderaan.

"Although," continued Breha, "I would like to think that you won't be wandering around Coruscant alone at night again. Or anywhere else for that matter."

Leia winced slightly. "So Father told you?"

"Well, of course he did," answered Breha. "Did you really expect him to keep something like that from me?"

"It really wasn't as serious as he probably made it sound," Leia replied. "No lasting harm was done to me."

"It is incredibly serious, Leia, your father didn't need to make it sound any more or less so." Breha sighed and shook her head sadly. "It was devastating to hear that you had to endure something like that, to realise how much worse it might have been if-"

She broke off and Leia moved to embrace her, holding on tightly as Breha struggled with what little energy she had to prevent her tears from falling.

"Your father told me that he does believe that you are okay," she whispered in a tremulous voice. "But I have to confess that my initial response was to vow that I would never allow you out of my sight again...just the thought that I might have lost you..."

"But you didn't," replied Leia in as soothing a tone as she could muster given that her own throat was constricting painfully with restrained emotion. "I'm fine...I was shaken by it at first but I'm fine now."

For a moment they were silent. Leia silently chastised herself for thinking, for hoping, that her father would keep what had happened to her on Coruscant from her mother. She reasoned that she had simply wanted to move on from it all, leave it in the past. But that had been selfish on her part; she was keeping enough secrets within the Senate, living with unceasing pressure of having to conceal her affiliation with the Rebellion from the rest of the galaxy, and so the last thing she wanted to do was to begin keeping secrets from her family.

"I should have told you myself," she conceded quietly. "It was wrong of me to think that I should keep it from you. But I promise Mother, I really am okay...I just didn't want to worry you, not when I know you already worry too much about me whenever I am away."

Breha reached out and gently laid a hand upon her daughter's cheek, caressing it with her thumb. Leia's mind flashed back to all of the times when such a gesture seemed to have had the power to make everything alright, like when she'd fractured her wrist falling down the palace steps when she was eight or when her first tentative attempts to traverse a teenage crush had ended in embarrassment. It never mattered what the problem was, her mother's sympathy and reassuring presence had always been enough to console her.

And so it was here.

Breha smiled warmly, though tears still clung to her eyelashes. "I hope now that you and your father will stop teasing me for praying for your safety when you go away," she murmured. "Especially now that we know that the Gods are listening."

Though Breha was not a devoutly religious woman, she did believe in a higher power and always insisted on saying an ancient prayer for safe travels on behalf of her husband and daughter whenever either of them departed from Alderaan. While both Leia and Bail believed in the Gods themselves, they nonetheless enjoyed good-naturedly teasing Breha for her insistence on praying for their safety.

"Did you pray for the Gods to send a Corellian to my rescue?" asked Leia, somewhat sardonically.

"I only ask that they keep you and your father safe," answered Breha shortly. "I don't care how they do it, just as long as they ensure that you both come home to me."

"If your prayers are being answered then please say one for your own health," replied Leia. "I don't like to see you unwell. And neither does Father, I could tell that it was on his mind before he left."

Breha finished her tea and began pouring a second cup. "He worries too much," she scoffed. "As do you for that matter...it is just a virus Leia, it will pass in its own time." She relaxed back in her chair and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun on her skin. "And speaking of your father, he's sent word that he will be arriving home this evening. Apparently some unexpected problems arose on Ranolta that he's had to work through."

"What kind of problems?"

"You know that I don't ask questions when it comes to the Alliance, Leia," Breha responded, her eyes remaining closed. "That is his business...and yours now, I suppose. I support you both, and your cause, but I cannot involve myself in the Rebellion."

"Did he speak to you about the discussion that he and I had before he left?" Leia asked. "About me taking on more responsibilities within the Alliance?"

Breha coughed and grimaced in pain. Leia made to reach out to her, to ask if her mother was alright, but Breha quickly waved her off, busying herself for a moment by smoothing out a crease in her robe.

"He did mention that you'd both had a discussion along those lines," she remarked tersely. "Although he didn't say anything about you taking on more responsibilities within the Alliance, rather that he was willing to consider ways that you might contribute further that would not distract you from your work in the Senate."

"And would that be an issue with you?"

"Leia, you already know my answer to that question," Breha sighed. "I don't want to talk about the Rebellion or about the Empire or the war...I can hardly bear to think about any of it now, not when I stand to lose so much if the worst should happen."

Leia knew better than to pursue the subject of the Alliance any further with her mother.

"So what would you like to talk about?" she inquired with a wry grin, moving to change the subject to one that would upset Breha further. "Would you like to here about Yat Ferrio's latest pathetic scheme to slander my reputation and ruin my career? Or I could tell you about the disaster that was Winter's recent date with a dignitary from Atrisia?"

"Winter has already told me all about _that_ particular disaster," chuckled Breha. "But there is something that I am hoping _you_ might be able to tell me more about."

Leia raised her eyebrows in question and her mother leaned in conspiratorially.

"Now, about this mysterious Corellian..."

* * *

Han had been to Alderaan once in his life, shortly after he'd been dishonourably discharged from the Imperial Navy and he and Chewie had briefly fallen in with a crew that had spent a couple of days in the capital city of Aldera lin search of freighting work.

From what he could recall of those vague memories, the planet hadn't changed at all.

He remembered the mountains most clearly; wide expanses of rugged mountain ranges, capped with snow. Corellia had similar such terrain and during his youth spent in the urban metropolis that was Coronet City, the mountains of his homeworld had always held a strange sense intrigue for Han. Reflecting on that now, he thought that perhaps mountains had simply represented an idea of freedom to his youthful mind, untamed and boundless in scope.

As the _Falcon_ glided over crystalline lakes, vast plains of green and dense woodland, Chewie was taking the opportunity to do some research on their destination.

When he'd returned to the _Falcon,_ or had, more accurately, been escorted back to the ship by an Alliance security patrol, Han had expected the Wookie to be angry; they'd worked together for long enough now that Han knew nothing pushed Chewie's temper to the verge of breakinglike his recent habit of disappearing for hours at a time without warning or explanation. And Han had done a lot of disappearing over the past year, conspiring to keep Chewie in the dark over his reasons for doing so.

But Chewie had too been curious about the business proposal that Bail Organa wanted to discuss with them to be angry with Han.

Bail Organa, it turned out, had long been an outspoken critic of the Empire's occupation of Kashyyyk and had led calls in the Senate for the abolishment of slavery, shouldering the cause of Wookies across the galaxy that had been taken into Imperial captivity. And his daughter, Chewie had read aloud from his datapad, had taken up that same cause upon succeeding her father as the Senate representative of Alderaan.

But while Han could respect anyone who possessed the integrity and principles to stand up for and speak out on behalf of the Wookies' plight, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of work a man like Bail could offer to himself and Chewie.

He figured that it was more than likely smuggling work for the Rebellion, shipping supplies and weapons to their secret bases without attracting any unwanted Imperial attention. And while Han wanted no part in a revolution that he knew was doomed to inevitable failure, he suspected that the risk of helping them out would be reflected in the lucrative rewards that the Rebellion would surely offer; he and Chewie had to stand a good chance of earning a lot more credits running shipments for the Alliance than than if they took a job from some second-rate gangster in the Outer Rim.

A shrill beeping noise announced that they were receiving a transmission.

" _ **Corellian YT-1300, registration 492727ZED, this is Aldera Traffic Control. Please identify yourself."**_

"Here goes nothing," Han muttered as he leaned toward the console and spoke into the ship's transceiver. "Aldera Traffic Control, this is Han Solo, captain of the _Millennium Falcon_ _._ Transmitting clearance code for landing now."

The Viceroy had given him the code back on Ranolta, one that would grant them permission to land without having to explain their reasons for venturing to Alderaan.

" _ **Good evening, Captain Solo, everything checks out on our end. Please proceed to the hangar on the waterfall side of the palace. Welcome to Aldera."**_

"Well, they're polite at least," said Han as he steered the _Falcon_ toward the hangar they'd been directed to.

" _It is a pacifist planet, of course they are polite,"_ replied Chewie.

"Yeah, they're such pacifists here that the guy in charge is also leading an insurrection against the Empire...real peace-loving folks."

" _There are not enough planets like this in the galaxy,"_ groused Chewie as the palace loomed ever larger through the ship's viewport. _"It will be a great honour for me to meet Viceroy Organa and thank him for all that he has done on behalf of Wookies."_

"Now don't go getting any noble ideas," Han warned as he initiated their landing procedure. "We're here on business, not to sign up for any do-gooder cause. The Viceroy seems a decent enough guy but we're not doing him any favours, alright? If the terms he offers aren't worth our time, we're walking away."

" _I resent you lecturing me about business when we are in this mess because you have spent the past year chasing after Bria,"_ Chewie growled. _"If you had been this focused on business before, we might have managed to pay Jabba off by now."_

Han couldn't argue that point but was unwilling to readily concede it to his partner.

"Yeah well, that's all over now," he muttered as the _Falcon_ gently touched down in the hangar. "Like I said back on Ranolta, I'm done with Bria...I'm moving on, just like you wanted and just like I told you I would."

Chewie watched him for a moment, wondering whether Han really believed that moving on would be as simple and straightforward as he'd made it sound. The Wookie knew it wouldn't be, that the questions Han wanted to have answered wouldn't simply go away even if he did now abandon his search for Bria.

But he was nonetheless relieved that Han was at least finally thinking clearly now, that he was prepared to leave Bria in the past where she belonged.

It wasn't as though Chewie didn't have his own reasons to be angry with Bria; half of that money she'd stolen a year ago had been his, credits that he had hoped to put to good use by going into business for himself. Truth be told, he was tired of smuggling for criminals and gangsters, of all the risks that their current line of work entailed. And so, reasoning that he and Han possessed enough common sense and business acumen between them to stand a good chance of being successful if they went legitimate, Chewie had given some thought to them starting their own shipping company and making an honest living.

Bria had seen to it that those ambitions would go unfulfilled.

But Chewie had found that enduring and ultimately surviving Imperial slavery gave one a very valuable sense of perspective when it came to injustice. He was angry at Bria for what she'd done to him, how callously she'd treated Han, but he wasn't going to go looking for revenge over some stolen credits.

He was curious as to what had become of her in the months that had passed since Bria's abrupt departure from his and Han's lives. Though Han dismissed the possibility out of hand, Chewie did think that everything pointed to her having something to do with the extremist group that had apparently been causing the Rebellion problems on Ranolta, just as the Viceroy had suggested to be the case.

And, though he would never admit it to Han, Chewie couldn't say that he found such a hypothesis to be a very difficult one to believe of Bria.

While Chewie busied himself with shutting down all of the _Falcon's_ systems, Han made his way out to the hangar. The only other craft being housed there was a small and sleek skiff, one that looked to be one of the latest _Danyaxo_ models; it figured that the royal family would travel around in only the newest and most expensive craft on the market, Han thought. There were a number of multi-purpose maintenance droids powered down in the corner of the hangar, similar to those that Han had seen at ship-building yards he'd visited in his past, like the ones on Corellia and Kuat. He didn't have much interest in such droids; as far as he was concerned, they only served a purpose to those that were too lazy and inattentive to appreciate the art of maintaining a ship themselves.

" _What now?"_ asked Chewie as he ambled down the _Falcon's_ ramp. _"Should we wait here or is there somewhere that we are supposed to go?"_

"No idea," Han shrugged. "But I ain't wandering around this palace looking for the Viceroy - he knows we're here so if he wants to talk business, he can come and find us."

At that moment, the hangar door opened and a golden, chrome-plated droid shuffled toward them.

"Captain Solo, good evening and on behalf of Viceroy Organa, allow me to welcome you to the Royal Palace of Aldera." The droid bowed slightly to both Han and Chewie in turn. "I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Han smirked at Chewie who in turn raised an eyebrow, his message clear: _be nice._

"The Viceroy too busy to come and welcome us himself or something?" asked Han. "I thought he had business that he wanted to discuss with me and my partner?"

"I am afraid that Viceroy Organa has been preoccupied with some matters of great importance since his return to Alderaan," the droid answered. "He wishes me to extend to you his sincerest apologies for not welcoming you himself and has asked me to escort you to meet with him."

"Is that so?"

The droid nodded jerkily.

"Well then, lead the way Goldenrod."

The droid made to turn and lead them out of the hangar but hesitated. "I'm sorry, Captain Solo," it said haughtily, "but I thought I had introduced myself to you already. Forgive me, I am See-Three-

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time," Han interrupted. "Just show us where to go, will you?"

Given its expressionless face, the droid did a remarkable job of nonetheless conveying how perturbed it was by Han's abruptness. It looked from Han to Chewie and back, as though trying to discern whether or not it should respond or simply carry on with the task that it had been assigned. Finally it motioned with its arm, beckoning to Han and Chewie to follow him.

The corridors of the palace were deserted. Having never been in such a place before, Han hadn't quite known what to expect. He took note of the moss paintings that had been placed upon the walls, aware that such artwork was extremely valuable on the galactic black market. There were holographs that stood upon marble plinths, depicting historic landmarks and commemorating important individuals from Alderaan's past, as well as ornate tapestries that, according to the plaques placed beside each of them, had been donated by monarchies and governments of other planets in recognition and appreciation of Alderaan's efforts to uphold peace and equality in the galaxy.

The droid led them to an office several floors up from the hangar. When they entered, they found Bail Organa studying a holograph of a system that Han did not immediately recognise.

"Ah, so you made it," Bail said, deactivating the holo. "I had hoped that you were simply taking your time in getting here, although I will admit that part of me was wondering whether I'd perhaps made a mistake in allowing you to travel here aboard your own ship."

"You make it sound like I'm sort of prisoner," Han replied. "You let me go, remember?"

"So I did," chuckled Bail. He turned to Chewie. "And this, I presume, is your partner?"

Han nodded. "This is Chewie. Or Chewbacca - I call him Chewie for short, he tends to prefer that."

Bail stepped forward, his hand outstretched to shake Chewie's. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Chewbacca."

" _Viceroy Organa."_ Chewie bowed his head in greeting, a customary gesture of respect on Kashyyyk. _"It is the utmost honour to meet you after all that you have done in service of my homeworld. Know that you have the gratitude of all Wookies for speaking out so loudly and courageously against our oppression and enslavement."_

Han made to translate, as he so often did for Chewie, but was taken aback when Bail immediately responded.

"There really is no need to thank me, Chewbacca," he said in a solemn tone. "I only regret that I have been unable to do more for the Wookies' cause." He noticed Han's quizzically raised eyebrow. "There was a Wookie in the same junior legislative programme that I served in, many years ago now," he explained. "I picked up a little Shyriiwook from him."

"No one just _picks up_ Shyriiwook," replied Han. "You either learn it or you don't."

"Well, I'll admit that I have studied it a little when I've had the rare luxury of some spare time over the years," said Bail. He motioned to the droid. "Threepio here has been an invaluable help in that."

He moved to sit behind his desk and motioned for Han and Chewie to take two of the chairs that were opposite him. "We're just waiting on someone else to join us and then we can get on with discussing that business proposal I mentioned to you back on Ranolta," he told them. "She should be along in just a moment."

"You mind telling me what exactly this business is now?" Han asked as he dropped into one of the chairs; Chewie lowered himself into his with slightly more awkwardness given that his chair was not quite large enough to accommodate his broad frame. "I've come a long way to hear this, Viceroy...not that you gave me much of a choice."

"Han, everything in life is a choice," retorted Bail. "We met each other on Ranolta because of a choice you made that led you and Chewbacca there...you are here now because you have made the choice to listen to what I have to say. And it will be your choice whether or not you agree to the business proposal that I wish to present to you both."

There was a knock on the door and it slid open to permit whoever was outside entry.

"And now we can begin discussing that proposal," said Bail. He stood and motioned behind Han and Chewie.

"Han Solo, Chewbacca. Allow me to introduce you both to my daughter, Princess Leia Organa."

Han recognised her immediately, had thought about her more often than he would care to admit since their initial meeting back on Coruscant. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been standing in an elevator, barely holding herself together. He'd hoped since then that she was alright, that no lasting emotional or physical damage had been done to her, but never thought he'd have the opportunity to know for sure.

Yet here she was, looking as taken aback as he felt. And Han knew, could sense immediately, that she had thought of him since they'd parted, could see it in her captivating brown eyes; even if he hadn't ever seen her again, Han had known that he would never forget those eyes.

She was beautiful.

"Hey Sweetheart," he smiled.


	9. Chapter 9

_I don't know how I've managed to go a fortnight without updating this; my only excuse is that we've recently had a bit of a heatwave where I live so the idea of staying indoors and writing wasn't the most appealing one._

 _Anyway, I intend for more regular updates from now on. This one is a few days behind the schedule I'd drawn up for myself but Chapter 10 is already underway and will focus on the immediate fallout from this chapter with Winter and Breha featuring again._

 _And so Han and Leia are reunited here following their initial meeting on Coruscant in Chapter 1. From here, their relationship will really become the focus of the story._

* * *

 _9_

Leia had really not given any serious thought to ever setting eyes on this man again.

She'd begun to think that perhaps one day her encounter with him would have made for an enjoyably nostalgic story. When she was an old woman, perhaps with grandchildren eager to hear accounts of her youth spent as a politician and freedom fighter, Leia would recall the mysterious Corellian who'd once gone to her rescue on Coruscant. It had all the makings of the fantastical kind of tales that her own parents had read to her when she'd been younger; he'd be forever anonymous, distinguished by the scantest details she could recall of his appearance and his association with a Wookie.

Over time, she'd wonder who he was, where he'd come from and what ultimately might have become of him.

But while he would have remained an eternally vivid figure in her mind, Leia had never believed it likely, or even possible, that fate would conspire in such a way that she would ever meet the Corellian again.

Yet here he was, standing in her father's office, his towering and fur-covered cohort at his side. He wore the same blue jacket, his hair looked just as charmingly unkempt, he did indeed have a scar just beneath his lower lip.

And he'd called her "Sweetheart", just as he had when they'd parted ways outside of her apartment building back on Coruscant.

 _Han Solo._ So now she had a name to put to the face; it came almost as a relief to realise that she wouldn't have to refer to him simply as "the Corellian" anymore, that he wouldn't now remain eternally anonymous.

Leia felt an odd sense of gratification that he so clearly recognised her, just as she had instantly recognised him, and wondered whether that meant he'd thought of her in the days that had passed since they'd met.

"Leia?" She was dimly aware that her father was speaking to her, became cognisant that there were others in the room beside herself and Han Solo.

Conscious of propriety, Leia stepped forward to shake hands with the Wookie; she'd never met one before, though she knew of their suffering at the hands of the Empire and had led public protests against their plight and the Imperial occupation of their homeworld. Chewbacca bared his fans in what she assumed was a smile of greeting and bowed his head, warbling softly as he did so and Leia found herself captivated by his expressive and gentle eyes.

"He's thanking you for speaking up for Wookies in the Senate," Han translated quietly for her. "And he says that the galaxy would be a much better place if it had more people like you in it."

She waved off the Wookie's thanks and compliments, habitually mumbling something about duty and the need to fight for justice on behalf of the oppressed. And then she turned to Han, finding herself at a loss for words. Did she greet him as though they'd never met? Simply shake hands and introduce herself, given that she hadn't back on Coruscant? Should she explain to her father who this man was?

While she faltered, Han seized the initiative.

"Didn't think I'd be seeing you again," he said, grinning broadly. "So...you're royalty, huh?"

Leia simply nodded in response.

She could feel her father's eyes on her, analysing her, and suddenly became uncomfortably aware of how casually she was dressed; after dinner, she'd changed into a worn but comfortable tunic, arranged her hair in loose braids and had assumed this meeting would be an informal one when she'd been asked to attend it. Had she been aware that she and her father would not be alone, should would have thought to present herself in a somewhat more professional manner.

To her relief, Chewbacca broke the uneasy silence with a questioning bark.

"She's the woman I helped back on Coruscant," Han answered the Wookie. "The reason why my hand was all busted up a few days ago, remember?"

Glancing downward, Leia saw that the knuckles of his right hand were still tinged purple with fading bruises. While Chewbacca rumbled a response, gesticulating with his long arms, Leia's mind flashed back to the alleyway on Coruscant, to the horrible thud of Han's fist pummelling the Imperial officer that had attacked, the subsequent groans of pain.

"Well I didn't know she was a princess," Han was telling Chewbacca. "I saw someone that needed help so I helped her, I'm sorry that I didn't think to ask if she was a member of royalty at the time." He turned to Leia, scratching the back of his neck and smiling ruefully. "Guess we skipped over the introductions, right Sweetheart?"

Now that she thought about it, Leia couldn't understand why they hadn't at least exchanged names. She'd obviously been in something of an emotional state at the time but, upon reflection now, it nonetheless seemed odd that neither she nor Han had possessed the presence of mind to initiate an introduction while he'd escorted her to her building. She could only reason that it hadn't seemed to matter then given that the chances of them ever seeing each other again had seemed so incredibly miniscule.

"Am I to believe that you two know each other already?" Bail interjected. "That you've met before?"

There was something about his tone that immediately piqued Leia's suspicion. Turning to her father, she saw that he had affected an expression of surprise and intrigue that would have seemed genuine to anyone else. But there was a glint in his eye that she had seen before, one that perhaps only she could detect, that was so often his undoing when he tried to well-intentionally deceive his daughter.

"You know we have...you know who he is," Leia murmured. "Don't you?"

It took a moment for Bail to concede that he had indeed been caught in his ruse of oblivious curiosity. He did so with a sly grin and slight shrug of his shoulders and Leia immediately began to question how her father had managed to engineer this entire situation, what unbelievable twist of fate had brought him into contact with Han.

"I suppose I had better explain myself," Bail said.

He indicated that they should all sit across from him at his desk and while Han and Chewie did so, Leia remained standing, her arms crossed defiantly across her midriff. Initial bewilderment at the seeming coincidence of meeting Han again was giving way to a sense of burgeoning anger; she sensed intuitively that her father had an ulterior motive for organising this unexpected reunion and she was annoyed that she couldn't determine what it was, nor the part that Han might be expected to play in it.

She could tell by the way one of her father's eyebrows involuntarily quirked that he was anticipating an outburst from her, that he was aware of her rising temper. But he appeared to be think better of saying anything that might antagonise her and instead reclined in his ancient chair, folding his hands atop the desk.

"It's fortunate that Winter is not as reticent as you, Leia," he said dryly to his daughter. "Otherwise, I might not have seen fit to investigate when I heard that an individual with the Corellian Bloodstripe had been apprehended by one of our patrols on Ranolta, just as I was preparing to leave the planet."

"So you did know who I was all along?" Han groused.

"In a manner of speaking," Bail replied. "I knew what you'd done for my daughter, which gave me a fairly good idea of the kind of man you are. But, given the manner in which you came into contact with the Rebellion, I obviously had some questions that needed to be answered before I could be certain."

Leia wondered what her father meant by that, how it was that Han had come to be apprehended by the Alliance.

"Well, it would've been nice if you'd mentioned that when you were interrogating me," Han retorted. "We could've saved ourselves a lot of time if you had, Viceroy."

"As I said to you then Han, that was not an interrogation."

Han, Leia thought, was the very definition of casual disregard; he wasn't sitting in his chair, he was lounging, like he was a patron in a cantina rather than a guest at a palace. Now that his focus was on his ongoing exchange with her father, Leia could study him unnoticed. His legs were stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles, and his right hand rested easily upon the holster that was strapped to his thigh. He carried himself as though he didn't have a care in the universe, like it didn't faze him at all to sit across from and converse with the Viceroy of Alderaan.

"Sure felt like an interrogation," he muttered sourly.

"I needed to be sure that you were not what we suspected you might be," Bail explained and Leia noticed him glance meaningfully at Han, as though trying to impress something upon him without putting it into words; he was hiding something from her.

"Rest assured," Bail continued, "I realised that I had no reason for any concerns very quickly. Given what I had already heard about you, all I really wanted to know was whether you had some sort of association with a Wookie to confirm that you were the man that my daughter had met on Coruscant. And, as I'm sure you recall, you were not exactly forthcoming with answers to my questions initially so I knew I had to earn your trust somehow."

"So let me get this right," Han said, shifting a little in his chair and looking somewhat sceptical. "To find out whether or not I worked with a Wookie, you told me all about how you're involved with the Rebellion?"

Bail nodded.

"Doesn't really seem like a fair trade of information, Viceroy."

"But if I'd asked you outright, you would not have told me what I wanted to know," replied Bail simply. "You would have been suspicious of me from the start, would have realised that I had some idea of who you were. And it was _because_ of Chewbacca here that I told you about my role in the Alliance; I didn't believe that anyone who works alongside a Wookie would go running straight to the Empire with information on my ties to the Rebellion, regardless of the rewards they might earn for doing so."

Chewbacca then spoke in a low growl that prompted Han to roll his eyes.

"'Course I wouldn't have sold them out," he said. "I'm just saying it's a hell of a risk he took, that's all."

"Well, my judgement has once again proven to be sound," returned Bail. "I found out everything that I wanted to know and now you are here. So, if I did take a risk in trusting you as I have, it was one that has paid off precisely as I hoped and expected it would."

Han regarded him dubiously and shook his head. "Seems to me that you're either too trusting or too reckless, Viceroy," he said. "Maybe you're both."

"I've found that there are occasions when I have to be both, given that I am covertly leading an insurrection against a galactic dictatorship," retorted Bail wryly. "But, over the course of the last twenty years, my trust has more often than not been vindicated and my recklessness rewarded."

Leia couldn't quite believe what she was hearing, that her father had divulged his ties to the Rebel Alliance to a complete stranger. It took months, sometimes years for him to invite anyone into his confidence when it came to the Alliance, a prolonged period of meticulous observation to determine whether the individual in question could be trusted beyond doubt and had something of value to contribute to the cause.

The only exceptions to that scrutiny were a small minority who had been a part of Bail's inner circle of closest confidantes since before the Rebellion's inception, individuals that he trusted implicitly, like Carlist Rieekan, Alderaan's head of planetary security, and Niram Mellon, the physician that had served the Organa family since Leia had been an infant. Both had been recruited into the Alliance years earlier but they were among the very few Alderaanians who were aware that Bail and Leia's political activism extended beyond their public dissidence against Imperial rule.

But her father had inexplicably seen fit to trust this stranger, to hand him the means with which to destroy nearly two decades of endeavour and sacrifice if he so desired.

As indebted as she was to Han for what he had done for her, the fact remained that Leia knew nothing about him and she really didn't believe that one encounter with him on Ranolta could have been enough for her father to glean whether or not he could be trusted. This _was_ reckless behaviour on her father's part, too reckless for Leia's liking.

"So your little plan worked out then," Han said. "Now, you gonna tell me what this business proposal is that I've come all this way to hear?"

"We will get around to discussing that shortly," answered Bail. "But first there is something important that I must do, that is part of the reason why I invited you here to Alderaan."

He rose to his feet and beckoned for Han to do likewise. Once the Corellian had languidly stood, exchanging an uncertain glance with Chewbacca as he did so, Bail extended his hand across the desk.

"I want to thank you for what you did for Leia on Coruscant," he said solemnly. "Truthfully, I owe you a debt that I know I can never adequately repay. But I want you to know that you and Chewbacca will always be welcome here on Alderaan...if there is ever anything you need, anything that I can help you with, then please never hesitate to ask it of me."

Han accepted the handshake but Leia thought that he looked uncomfortable under the weight of her father's emphatic expression of gratitude.

"It was nothing," he said shrugging his shoulders carelessly. "Just did what anyone else would have."

"I'm not so sure," replied Bail. "Common decency is an increasingly rare commodity in the galaxy these days. And what you did was so much more than decent...it means _everything_ to my family, to myself and my wife, that you were there when Leia needed someone to do the right thing...we will never forget what you did for our daughter."

"Look, don't make it out to be more than it was," Han muttered, dropping back into his seat and resuming his slack posture. "Really, I don't expect anything for it...I don't _want_ anything for it. "

"Be that as it may, you nonetheless have the gratitude of the House of Organa."

"No offense Viceroy, but I really don't need it."

Leia thought that his self-effacing rejection of her father's earnest indebtedness was a stark contrast to the swaggering facade that Han otherwise projected.

Chewbacca barked sharply then and swiped at Han's shoulder with his paw.

"Take it easy, Chewie," Han fired back, brushing the Wookie off with a scowl. "I'm not being rude, just saying that a simple _'thank you'_ is enough." He glanced at Leia. "And your daughter thanked me at the time, that's really all the gratitude I need."

While Leia had thanked him back on Coruscant, she'd regretted not saying more. _Say it now,_ she thought. _Say what you know you should have then, something more adequate than just a simple thank you.  
_

But she didn't know what to say, couldn't formulate meaningful words from her tumult of thoughts.

"Well, my offer will nonetheless remain open," Bail replied. "Should you ever be in need of it, assistance will always be available to you on Alderaan." He clapped his hands together. "And now, to business."

Bail walked around the desk and began to pace close to where Leia was leaning against the edge of the holo-projector in the centre of the room. Hands clasped behind his back and head bowed, he spoke again to Han and Chewbacca.

"Given how freely we've spoken about the Alliance in my daughter's presence, I am sure that you have both come to realise by now that Leia has some involvement in the organisation herself." He paused to look to her. "However, just how involved she should be with the Rebellion has become something of a contentious issue between her and I."

He paused and Leia found herself willing him to continue, to make clear why he'd invited Han to Alderaan, seemingly freeing him from Alliance custody on Ranolta in order to do so.

"Do you follow politics, Han?"

Han shook his head. "Can't say I do," he answered. "Chewie keeps up with it sometimes, when we're between jobs and have some time on our hands, but I'm not really interested."

"I assumed as much," Bail said good-naturedly. "In that case, you might not be aware that Leia has been quite prominent on the HoloNet news networks of late due to her work in the Senate. You see, the Alliance's intelligence unit has uncovered evidence that the Empire has been carrying out weapon tests in the Outer Rim, weapons that we fear could have been developed as a means of mass destruction rather than defence or intimidation as Imperial propaganda might claim."

"What kind of weapons?"

"Lasers primarily, very powerful ones, though we believe they might also be testing some form of prototype biological weapon."

"And what's the princess got to do with any of that?"

"Why are you telling him this?" Leia pushed away from the holo-projector and moved to stand in front of Bail, halting his pacing and forcing him to look at her. "You don't know him...people have put their lives at risk to give us this information, to help our cause, do you really want to risk that sacrifice being all for nothing? How can you possibly be so sure that you can trust this man?"

"Hey, ease up Sweetheart." Han clambered to his feet, ignoring Chewbacca's half-hearted attempt to prevent him from interjecting. "Your old man's right, I ain't going running to the Empire about you and your little insurgency...no offense or anything but the money I could earn wouldn't be worth the trouble it would cause me."

"That's very comforting to know, Mister Solo." Leia's words dripped with contemptuous sarcasm. "Forgive me for not being willing to blindly accept the word of a complete stranger on a matter as important as this."

"It's _Captain_ Solo, actually, _Your Worshipfulness_ ," Han replied testily. "And I'm not really a complete stranger to you, am I? Maybe you should cut me a little slack after what happened on Coruscant, huh?"

"One good deed should not be enough to earn the kind of trust that my father seems willing to place in you, _Captain_ Solo."

"Really? _One good deed_? You know, you've really got some nerve, Sweetheart."

"My name is _Leia._ Or, if you're incapable of pronouncing that, I have a number of titles that might be more preferable to you."

"I can think of a few titles of my own that I'd really prefer to call y-"

"Enough." Bail stepped between them, his hand raised to quell the escalating argument that had quickly become quite volatile. Chewbacca reached forward to take a hold of Han's jacket and effortlessly dragged him backward, letting him fall back into his seat by the desk.

When the Wookie rumbled something quietly to his companion, Han hissed back in response, "well _she_ started it!"

Leia seethed silently, taking in several deep breaths through her nose in an effort to calm herself. It felt as though she was the only rational person in the room, the only person who could understand the risks being taken by her father, the jeopardy in which he was potentially placing the Rebellion. His reasons for doing so were unfathomable; it was so uncharacteristic of him to be so forthcoming.

And any curiosity Leia had held about Han Solo was quickly giving way to an intense irritation. He seemed so insolent, so abrupt, so annoyingly unfazed by this entire situation; it didn't appear to register with him, for some abstruse reason, the magnitude of the information that he was being entrusted with. He could have been discussing something as inconsequential the weather outside or the result of a smashball game, such was his apparent apathy toward covert intelligence that carried potentially seismic ramifications for the entire galaxy. Suddenly, knowing more about him seemed so unappealing and Leia thought now that she would be quite happy to let him fade back into obscurity.

Bail looked disapprovingly between her and Han, shaking his head in exasperation.

"Now, can we continue our discussion without this childish bickering?" Leia glared at him, irked that he was talking in the stern tone that he had used when she had misbehaved as a child.

"I don't think that this is a discussion that should be taking place," she answered emphatically. "You don't know him."

"Perhaps not...but I trust him," Bail replied.

"Why?"

"Because I know that I can." He placed his hands upon her shoulders. "And I need you to trust me, Leia...trust that I know what I am doing."

She wanted to. More than anything, Leia just wanted to be able to trust her father now, to recognise whatever it was that he had so obviously seen in Han. The irony was that she likely had more reason than her father to trust Han and yet she couldn't let go of her doubt and suspicion that he might undo everything that her family and the Alliance had worked for if her father's judgement of him was proven less than sound.

"Look," Han interrupted, getting to his feet again and indicating that Chewbacca should do the same, "I'm not interested in getting caught up in some family dispute. And I sure as hell don't want to get involved in anything to do with your Rebellion - I've got enough problems of my own to deal with without risking ending up on the Empire's wanted list, so me and Chewie will just go now and let you both get on with your little revolution."

"That won't be necessary Han," said Bail. "There is still something that I would like to discuss with you."

"Doesn't seem like there's much point in discussing anything Viceroy, not when your daughter obviously doesn't trust me."

"Well, it would be in Leia's interest to listen to what I have to say." He looked to his daughter pointedly. "Given that it concerns a conversation that she I had just before I left for Ranolta."

 _So that's where this is going,_ Leia realised. _He's decided on a position from which he wants to negotiate my involvement with the Alliance._

She couldn't fathom how and where Han might figure in finally finding a resolution to this disagreement that had dragged on for too long between herself and her father but he obviously did. And such was Leia's desire to reach that resolution, she was prepared to accept his continued presence.

At least until she'd heard whatever plan her father seemed to have in mind.

"Now, as I was saying before our discussion ventured off course," Bail began as Han and Chewbacca sat down, seemingly placated again for the moment. "The Alliance has allowed some of the intelligence that we've gathered on these weapon tests in the Outer Rim to find its way into the hands of some of the more liberal sections of the media. And, once that information was made public, Leia took up our cause in the Senate and has tried to build enough support to put some political pressure on the Empire to admit why they are developing these weapons."

"And you really think that's gonna work?" asked Han with pronounced scepticism. "You think that the Empire will own up to whatever it is they're doing 'cause a few politicians make some noise in the Senate?"

"The answer to that question is dependent on just how much noise we can make," answered Bail. "Our priority, Han, is to force more systems across this galaxy to recognise just what the Empire is capable of, the depths to which Palpatine will sink to maintain order. Too many live under the naive delusion that remaining silent and oblivious will keep them safe...they fail to understand that the Emperor would think nothing of committing genocide at the slightest hint of opposition."

"It is working," Leia cut in, speaking directly to Han. "I've already convinced six systems to take a stand with me on the matter."

" _Six?_ " Han couldn't suppress a harsh chuckle and Leia felt her temper begin to edge beyond her control again. "No offense Sweetheart, but six systems siding with you ain't gonna make a difference to anything."

"But it is a start," Bail said conciliatorily, subtly placing a calming hand on Leia's back to warn her against impulsively responding to Han. "It's six more systems that have realised they have a voice, that can set an example to others who are yet to find their own voices. And it might be six more systems that are willing to commit to the Rebellion, six more means of acquiring the resources we will need if we are going to stand any chance of winning this war."

Chewbacca chose that point to make his own input, warbling softly to his partner. Though she could not understand what the Wookie was saying, Leia could sense by Han's reaction that it had done nothing to assuage his cynical outlook; he smirked and folded his arms across his chest, scuffing the heel of his boot against the aged woollen rug on the ground carelessly.

"So, you've got your daughter trying to recruit more systems into your revolution, right under the Empire's nose in the Senate?" he asked Bail. "And you actually think trusting me is the risk here? I gotta give it to you Organa, I've met plenty of gamblers in my time but you're something else."

"I take that risk willingly, not because my father or anyone else asks me to," Leia interrupted before Bail could reply. "It is my obligation rather than a choice, Captain Solo, a duty that I owe to the galaxy."

"That's all very noble, Your Highness, but good intentions don't count for much when you're going up against the Empire. Fact is, you're fighting against something that you can't beat...all you're doing is sticking your own necks on the line for a lost cause and, sooner or later, the Empire is going to take notice of what you're up to...maybe they already have and tried to do something about it."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"That creep on Coruscant, the one I dragged off of you, was an Imperial - how'd you know they didn't set someone on you, told him to wait 'til you were alone and then shut you up for good?"

"That's ridiculous," Leia snapped. "That incident was entirely random, it had nothing to do with me being deliberately targeted by the Empire."

"How can you be so sure?" Han turned to Bail. "Come on Viceroy, you can't honetly tell me that you don't see the connection here. You don't think that what happened was just a concidence, that an Imperial officer just happened to come across the princess all alone, right?"

"I will admit that that thought has crossed my mind," Bail answered quietly. "In truth, I've never been much of a believer in coincidences or random acts of fate...I suppose that is the politician in me, too focused on practicality... so I think it would be unwise for any of us to dismiss what you are suggesting out of hand."

Leia had expected her father to side with her; the idea that the Empire would have assigned one its officers to attack her was absurd. Directing an assault on prominently outspoken critic of Imperial rule within the Senate simply carried too much risk and, even if Han's theory was somehow correct, it was unfathomable to her that the Empire would not enlist the services of an outsider, someone who could not have been easily traced back to them had the incident been uncovered.

Her discontentment did not go unnoticed by Bail.

"I am not saying that that is what I believe happened, Leia," he said quickly. "The reality is that we will likely never know one way or the other now. But I cannot pretend that I do not see the plausibility in what Han is suggesting and it is a possibility that I've given a lot of thought to myself while I've been away."

Leis's prevailing thought now was that her father's stance did not bode well for her hopes of furthering her involvement with the Alliance beyond the work she was already undertaking on its behalf in the Senate. If Bail really believed that there was a chance that the Empire had deliberately targeted her, that they would resort to violence as a means of silencing her, then he would surely not permit her to do anything more for the Rebellion that might place her at further risk.

"So what's all this got to do with Chewie and me?" asked Han.

"Well, as I said," answered Bail, "the situation is one that I thought about a lot on Ranolta. You see, Leia is very eager to take on more responsibilities within the Rebellion, to extend her contributions beyond everything she does on our behalf in the Senate. And ordeals like the one she was put through on Coruscant, along the attention she has already drawn to herself through her political work, make it very difficult for me to allow her to do that...I support my daughter unconditionally, I value all of the qualities she could bring to the Alliance, but I will not place her in any unnecessary danger."

He paused then, only for a moment, and Han leaned forward slightly in his chair, as though in anticipation.

"But a potential solution to that problem had now presented itself," Bail concluded.

Han narrowed his eyes warily. "I don't like the sound of that, Viceroy."

"I might not think much of coincidences, Han, but some things just cannot simply be put down to chance," Bail replied. "You say you know something about gambling? Then what are the odds that you and I would meet only days after you went to Leia's aid? That just as I was contemplating what more I could do to keep my daughter safe, you appeared?"

"So you think that this is down to fate, huh?" Han scoffed and Leia noticed that Chewbacca, who'd been a largely silent observant throughout the discussion, looked mildly perplexed himself. "Sounds kind of hokey to me, Viceroy."

"Whether our meeting was a matter of fate or not is irrelevant I suppose," said Bail. "What matters is that we did meet...and how I think you might now be able to help us."

It dawned on Leia then just what her father in mind, the reason why Han had been asked to come to Alderaan. And the realisation did nothing to assuage her irritation with the situation she'd found herself in.

She thought that Han had likely come to the same realisation by now, had perhaps done so earlier. But his expression remained inscrutable and he simply swiped his hand carelessly through the air, inviting Bail to elaborate further.

"I do not want to hold my daughter back," Bail continued. "And I cannot deny that the Alliance needs her...but _I_ need to keep her safe, to ensure that she never has to go through anything like that incident on Coruscant again...and I think that you are the perfect candidate to help me do just that, Han."

"Perfect candidate? I'm a smuggler, not a bodyguard." Han stood and crossed to the nearby window that looked out over Aldera, his hands braced on his hips. "When you told me you wanted to talk business, I thought you'd ask me to run supplies for your Rebellion or something, not play protector for your daughter."

"I don't understand what you are thinking here," Leia told her father. "I don't need any more protection than I already have, you are overreacting based on one incident that was caused by my own carelessness."

"You don't know that for certain," Bail retorted. "And neither do I. Perhaps what happened to you is my fault in some way, maybe I've underestimated the danger that you are in on Coruscant given what you are trying to accomplish in the Senate. But I cannot just let what happened to you pass without doing something about it Leia."

"You said that you know I can take care of myself," Leia replied, accusation creeping into her voice. "Before you left for Ranolta, you told me that you didn't doubt that."

"And I don't," Bail insisted. "But you have to understand my concerns Leia. It was only through meeting Han that this all fell into place in my mind; I might have arrived at this decision in any case and then would have had to find the right person, someone that I could trust with a responsibility as important as this. I promise that I am not doing this because I doubt you, Lelila...but if you are in danger, it is only going to worsen and if I am to allow you to do more for the Alliance, beyond the Senate, I would at least like to have the peace of mind of knowing that someone I trust is watching over you."

His use of her childhood nickname, one that he only ever used as a form of endearment, did nothing to placate Leia. She felt ambushed, betrayed, belittled by the one person she had always counted on as her most steadfast supporter. And, as it did in the Senate when she felt backed into a corner or undermined, her instinctive combative streak came to the fore.

"I don't need anyone to watch over me!"

"Who's saying I'm gonna agree to this anyway," Han cut in. "Beating some manners into a lowlife that didn't know how to keep his hands to himself doesn't make me a bodyguard, Viceroy."

"But you have already proven that you can protect my daughter," Bail said. "Between yourself and Chewbacca, I have complete faith that you will be able to keep Leia safe."

"I don't believe I'm hearing this." Han absent-mindedly rubbed his jaw, shaking his head. "What do you think, huh?" he asked Chewbacca. "Can you believe this?"

Chewbacca merely shrugged his broad shoulders and warbled something that prompted Han to laugh.

"I'm sure that you and I can come to some sort of agreement, Han," said Bail. ""Yourself and Chewbacca would be welcome to remain here at the palace whenever Leia is on Alderaan, and I will be happy to provide any materials that you might require to maintain your ship. And, obviously, you would both be compensated financially."

"I don't think you realise what it is you're asking of us here," Han replied. "How are me and Chewie s'posed to keep the princess safe if she's in as much danger as you seem to think? If the Empire wants her dead, you're gonna need a hell of a lot more than two smugglers to stop them getting to her."

"I am well aware of what I'm asking of you and I don't do so lightly," said Bail. "For now, I simply want to get through the next few months. Once this issue of the weapon tests in the Outer Rim that I told you about has been resolved, one way or another, we can reevaluate the situation."

" _Months_? How many months?"

"I was hoping that you would agree to six months." When Han made to argue that, Bail quickly countered with another offer. "Three months then. Let's agree on a three month arrangement and see if it is a manageable one for us all."

"Am I allowed any say in this?" Leia interrupted. "Or am I simply expected to go along with whatever it is that you two decide?"

"I hope that you would trust me on this matter," Bail answered. "All I am asking of you Leis is that you try to understand that I am doing this for your benefit more than anything else."

"How can you expect me to believe that entrusting my safety to a complete stranger, a _smuggler_ , is going to be any sort of benefit to me?" Leia hissed. "He told you himself that he isn't a bodyguard so what purpose would employing him serve?"

"I'll warn you now Viceroy," Han spoke up, glaring at Leia, "you better have deep pockets 'cause it's goin' to cost you a hell of a lot of credits to convince me to give up three months of my life, and risk my neck, to keep an eye on _her._ "

With surprising dexterity for such a powerfully-built being, Chewbacca clambered quickly to his feet and took a firm hold of the sleeve of Han's jacket, dragging him into the corner of the room where two then engaged in a hushed, but what appeared to be quite intense, exchange; Leia was able to discern snatches of Han's argument, something about him being aware that the two of them needed money but that they could get it elsewhere.

In the respite, Bail placed his arm gently around her shoulder and drew her closer to him. And despite her anger, Leia could not muster any resistance to her father's affection.

"Trust me Lelila," he murmured so that only she could hear. "This will all work out for the best, you'll see."

Leia nodded but could not bring herself to be reassured. This plan that her father had concocted seemed on its surface to be fraught with complications and trusting in it would require a leap of faith that Leia was not at all comfortable with taking.

The problem did not lie in trusting her father; even if his plan was severely flawed, Leia could at least rely on his intentions being good.

Trusting this Captain Solo, whoever he was, was going to present the more arduous challenge. Her gratitude toward him remained; she would refuse to let it diminish, irrespective of the fact that he very much seemed like a man that she would detest if she ever came to know him in any meaningful way. And now she was faced with the prospect of spending more time in his company, of having the idealistic mental picture she'd created of him in the days that had passed since they'd met shattered further.

Han and Chewbacca were still arguing quietly and Leia marvelled again at the bizarre sight of a human conversing so animatedly with a Wookie. Noble and proud as she knew their race to be, she couldn't understand how anyone could make sense of their language, how Han was somehow able to translate barks and growls into decipherable phrases and sentences so effortlessly. Leia imagined that it had to have taken him years to gain such a fluent understanding of Shyriiwook, endless amounts of patience.

Unpalatable as she'd found being in his company that evening, Leia couldn't deny that she was intrigued to know just how Han had come to meet and understand Chewbacca.

When the pair's conversation showed no signs of abating, Bail eventually stepped forward to intervene.

"Might I suggest that we all take the rest of the night to think over what has been said tonight and reconvene tomorrow?" he proffered. "It is getting late and perhaps a break might be of benefit to us all now."

Han and Chewbacca nodded their agreement.

"Should I call Threepio to escort you back to the hangar your ship is docked in or will you be able to find your own way back there?"

"We'll figure it out oursevles," Han answered. "But before we go, we need to know exactly what you're asking of us here Viceroy? So we stick around for three months, watch the princess' back when she's on Coruscant and keep her out of trouble - how much are we talking in terms of payment?"

"I am sure that we will be able to negotiate an agreement that will be perfectly satisfactory to both yourself and Chewbacca." Bail said. "But that can all wait until the morning...I hope that, after a good night's sleep, you and Leia might manage to be a little more civil to one another."

While Leia glowered indignantly at her father, biting back a sharp retort, Han simply smirked.

"I wouldn't count on that if I were you," he replied. "Night Viceroy...goodnight Sweetheart."

He nodded at both of them in turn and Leia could have sworn that just as he turned to leave, he'd winked at her, so imperceptibly that no one else in the room would notice. And, infuriatingly, she felt the heat of an involuntary flush creep into her cheeks; she ducked her head in embarrassment, mentally cursing the temerity of the brash Corellian.

Once Han and Chewbacca were gone and the door had closed behind them, Bail returned to his seat behind the desk and folded his arms behind his head, looking strangely pleased with himself.

"Well," he said, "that went far better than I'd hoped it would."

Leia took Han's now-empty seat, surveying her father sceptically. "You thought that went well?" Bail nodded. "Really? Just how badly did you expect it might go if you think tonight has been a success?"

"Truthfully, I expected you to to chase him off-planet the moment I told you about the plan I had in mind," Bail responded with obvious amusement. "I did consider asking Carlist to have the entire palace guard stationed outside the room, just in case."

In spite of herself, Leia couldn't help but laugh at that. Her father had of course seen her engage in plenty of contentious verbal spats over the course of her young political career so he at least had a good frame of reference with which to judge her battle of wits with Han. Infuriating as he'd proven to be tonight, Captain Solo was at least a worthier adversary than many of the spineless sycophants Leia had become used to dealing with in the Senate.

"You do know that this plan of yours is going to end in disaster don't you?" she asked. "Even if those two agree to whatever terms you're prepared to offer them, Captain Solo and I will not be able to get along for three hours, let alone three months."

"I have faith enough in the both of you to believe that you'll find enough common ground between you to act civilly toward one another," Bail said. "Perhaps when we do meet again tomorrow, you could show him a little more gratitude than you did tonight - I understand why you were angry, I know that you hate being caught off guard and that seeing him again had to be quite a shock after...well, because of the circumstances in which you first met. But he's a good man, Leia...a little rough around the edges perhaps, but a good man."

Though she wouldn't admit it to Bail, Leia had to concede that he was right; irrespective of whatever else happened, she had to at least ensure that Han didn't mistake her initial hostility toward him tonight as ingratitude.

"He might be a good man but I seem to remember you telling me once that good people can't always be relied upon... how can you be so sure that you can trust him, Father?"

"Because I am an excellent judge of character," Bail answered simply. "I always have been."

He leaned forward, stretching his arm out across in invitation to his daughter to take his hand. Silently, Leia did so.

"I believe that you can gain a measure of someone from the choices that they make when they don't have the time or opportunity to think them through," Bail continued. "Call it impulsiveness or recklessness, whatever you prefer, but Han helped you on Coruscant without paying any mind to his own safety. The monster that attacked you might have been armed, he could have easily had a blaster or a vibroblade at hand, but Han gave no consideration to that. He made a choice that night...he could have walked past you without a second thought, many others likely would have done so. But _he_ didn't...Han did the right thing, made the right choice and that is why I believe I can trust him, because I know that if he were ever put in that situation again, he would make that same choice."

He squeezed her hand gently.

"I just want you to be safe, Lelila," he continued softly. "Please, just trust me and give Han a chance...trust him."

Leia nodded. "I do trust you, Father," she murmured. "And I will at least give Captain Solo a chance."

Though it was more of an ambiguous response than Bail had clearly hoped for, he seemed willing to accept it for now.

"You should get some rest," he told her. "I suppose I'd better go and explain all of this to your mother before the morning...I imagine it won't take long for the staff to notice a Wookie strolling around the palace."

He rose and walked around the desk to embrace his daughter. "Never doubt how proud I am of you and everything that you have accomplished," he whispered into the crown of her head. "You are the blessing that your mother and I prayed for, for so long...I love you, my precious, wonderful daughter...and I will do _anything_ to keep you safe."


	10. Chapter 10

_Apologies for the late posting, again. It's not all my fault; I intended to spend a full weekend writing a couple of weeks ago and then I came across Kelleher's The Battle of Coruscant which interrupted those plans. If you haven't already read Kelleher's work, do so because all of it is brilliant.  
_

 _I hoped to get this posted by the end of last week and then ended up becoming ill so the delay has brought about a slight change in plan. I said in my notes for Chapter 9 that Breha and Winter would be back in this chapter but I've moved things around a little to keep things moving so Breha will definitely be in Chapter 11 and then Winter will feature in Chapter 12. Without wanting to give anything away, the main body of the story will revolve around Han, Leia and Chewie so I want to make the most of the other characters while I can and they will all feature quite prominently in the chapters to come._

 _So this is a Han/Chewie chapter. I am writing Chapter 11 now so I really don't intend for there to be as long a wait between updates from now on and the target is for 11 to be posted within the next week. And it will have the first real one-to-one interaction between Han and Leia._

 _Thank you to everyone who is reading and has reviewed this story, I hope anyone who is following it is enjoying._

* * *

 _10_

There was an old spacers' proverb that Chewie had always felt captured the essence of his friend and business partner very succinctly: _while the cautious man worries about tomorrow, the reckless man lives fully for today._

Wookies were philosophically predisposed to viewing life with a more cautious and reverent outlook than most other species in the galaxy. They believed that their long lives were a privilege, a sacred gift bestowed on them by a higher power, and so should be treated as such; to live recklessly, to risk one's life through ill-judgement and impulsiveness, was considered an affront to the Gods.

Han Solo lived with a wholly different perspective on mortality.

Early on in their partnership, Chewie had naively thought that Han's recklessness was simply a consequence of the hardships he'd had to overcome during his youth spent on the streets of Coronet City, a trait that he would eventually mature and move on from. Having had to struggle for so long merely to survive, it had been understandable that rushing headlong into danger had become almost second nature to Han, that he wouldn't be minded to take the calmer, more considered approach to life that a Wookie would.

But Chewie's enslavement by the Empire, the suffering he'd had to endure, had instilled in him a new perspective on life that was at odds with that of a typical Wookie. He'd come to find a strange but intoxicating sense of exhilaration in escaping all of the near-disasters that Han's impetuousness brought upon them, in living for the moment because the future then had been so uncertain and yet so enticingly full of possibilities.

Others would have likely cut their losses and walked away at the realisation that Han's recklessness was an innate part of his being rather than a by-product of his youth that would eventually pass; there had been a time when it had seemed as though he had expected to Chewie to do just that.

In truth, Chewie had never once been tempted to do so.

It hadn't simply been the life debt he'd sworn to Han that had kept him from leaving, not merely a sense of duty or obligation to an ancient Wookie custom. Committed as Chewie was to honouring that debt, the bond he'd come to forge with Han was far stronger than any such arrangement could dictate.

Han, as far as Chewie was concerned, was family.

An unspoken understanding existed between them, one that transcended any sentiment that either could express through words. In an era where Wookies were subjected to such prejudice and degradation, the loyalty and respect that Han had always shown toward Chewie had been such a welcome anomaly. From the very beginning, Chewie had never been expected to be subservient or blindly follow orders; at Han's insistence, they had always been partners, equals in every sense. While they bickered and disagreed, as brothers were prone to do, they nonetheless trusted one another implicitly.

Han had given Chewie a renewed sense of worth and purpose following his ordeal at the hands of the Empire, a reason to believe that intrinsic good that still existed in the galaxy; in turn, Chewie had been the one stable presence in Han's life, the only being he'd known that hadn't abandoned or been taken away from him.

Each bore the scars, both physical and mental, of the traumas of their separate pasts.

But they'd helped one another to move past those traumas. The passage of time had inflicted new wounds upon them both, fortune hadn't always been kind to the pair, but they were hardened survivors having each suffered a lifetime's worth of pain by the time they'd first crossed paths.

Spending so many years away from Kashyyyk, away from his wife and son, had at times been agonising for Chewie but the friendship he'd established with Han had made that separation bearable. The sometimes chaotic pace at which they lived, the often unpredictable nature of their work, had brought plenty of distractions to contend with over the years, but it was the familial companionship they'd established that had steered them both through the more testing times.

And the fallout from their betrayal at the hands of Bria Tharen had been a formidable test.

But Chewie sensed that Han's ill-fated search for answers from Bria, his recklessness in pursuing her so tenaciously, might just have inadvertently brought a solution to all of the problems that she'd caused them.

Since their return to the _Falcon,_ Chewie had contemplated nothing but the proposition that Bail Organa had put forth earlier that evening, marvelling that his and Han's venture to Ranolta had proven to be so unexpectedly rewarding.

Han, meanwhile, had skulked around the ship, communicating only in monosyllabic grunts whenever Chewie had tentatively tried to initiate a discussion about the business proposal that now lay on the figurative table before them. This was typical behaviour on his part; the Corellian, like Chewie, could not think of a single good reason to turn this opportunity down. And for that reason he was now sulking like a petulant teenager, because he felt backed into a corner by inescapable common sense.

Choosing to ignore his partner for the time-being, Chewie busied himself with preparing dinner for them both. Cooking was something of a cathartic hobby for the Wookie, a pastime that brought pleasure and distraction, an opportunity to both think and create. Han was a very good cook in his own right but his approach to it, as it was with most things, was drastically different to Chewie's; he arrived at his dishes through accident rather than by design, haphazardly throwing together whatever ingredients he might find stocked in the ship's galley and leaving messes of somewhat epic proportions in his wake. Chewie, on the other hand, was far more methodical and intricate.

As he delicately diced red roca peppers to add to the pot of Nerf stew that was simmering on the stove, Chewie considered how best to navigate the conversation that now loomed before him, hoping that Han would be in a slightly more amenable mood when it took place.

Having spent so many years traversing the smog and grime of the galaxy's urban metropolises and decrepit outposts, Chewie thought that any time spent amidst the calm and tranquillity of Alderaan would serve as a welcome respite for them both. Though the cities and villages of Kashyyyk were not as grand or opulent as Aldera, the Wookie had nonetheless immediately drawn similarities between Alderaan and his homeworld, the most prevalent one being how civilisation had sought to live alongside nature on both planets rather than supplant it; he thought that too much of the galaxy's natural beauty had been sacrificed for industrialisation, lost forever through callous and short-sighted disregard.

As the Falcon had soared over Alderaan's snow-capped mountains and majestic waterfalls, Chewie had felt the stirring of his natural instinct to explore. to immerse himself in all of the natural wonders that lay beyond the boundaries of Aldera. This was the sort of planet where he and Han could effectively disappear, the last place where Jabba or anyone else with a score to settle against them would think to look. They'd be safe here, at least for a little while, could live without the everyday stresses and pressures that were a consequence of them always having to remain one step ahead of their enemies.

But Chewie had a far more personal reason for wanting to take the Viceroy up on his unexpected offer of employment.

He felt a keen sense of affinity with the Organa family, that he owed them some form of repayment for the manner in which they'd spoken out so vociferously and with such conviction against the plight of his homeworld. Too few had possessed the courage to do the same in the years that had passed since the fall of the Republic and subsequent rise of the Empire, too many systems had simply turned away and pleaded ignorance while millions of Wookies had had their liberty so ruthlessly ripped away. But Alderaan had refused to remain idly silent.

Though he'd followed Han into a career that often necessitated them both engaging in somewhat illicit activities, Chewie's honour remained undiminished; if the young princess was in danger, if the Viceroy was prepared to place his trust in Han to protect her, then Chewie was determined to do everything in his own power to ensure that she came to no harm.

Putting aside the business practicalities of the Viceroy's overture, aware that it was one that he and Han could really not afford to turn down given the debt that was lingering over both of their heads, Chewie was adamant that there simply had to be some kind of significance, some _meaning,_ to everything that had transpired over the past few days. Whereas Han would likely dismiss each step in the sequence of events that had brought them to this point as nothing more than coincidental, Chewie was inclined to believe that fate had played at least a small part in charting the course that had ultimately led them both from Coruscant to Alderaan.

As a spiritual being, Chewie was reluctant to completely dismiss the notion that Han's reunion with the princess might have been the orchestration of some higher power, unwilling to blindly accept that there wasn't some measure of destiny and purpose behind it. Whether either of them liked it or not, the smuggler and the senator were now irrevocably linked, connected by a single act of selfless bravery that the Wookie suspected would come to affect their lives in a profound way, irrespective of however they might resist it.

Ladling the stew into two large bowls and balancing them on the crook of each of his long arms, Chewie retrieved the plate of flatbreads he'd baked earlier and carried it all through into the main hold where he found Han already seated at the banquette, slumped morosely over the Dejarik table. Resisting the urge to snap at his partner, to tell him to snap out of his malaise, Chewie set the food down and took his own seat; in order for this discussion to happen, let alone achieve the outcome that he hoped for, Chewie knew that he could not be the one to initiate it.

Aside from Han's muttered thanks for Chewie's culinary efforts, they ate in silence. The distant noise of the waterfall just beyond the hangar, carried through the ship's open hatchway on the gentle night-time breeze, might have contributed to a pleasant atmosphere had the residual tensions of their earlier meeting with the Viceroy and his daughter still not hung so thickly in the air.

"So you really wanna do this, huh?" Han asked after what felt like an interminable standoff. He was tearing a flatbread into pieces, using them to mop up what remained of his stew. "You wanna stick around here, play at being royal security for a while?"

Chewie shrugged nonchalantly, recognising that Han needed to say his piece before he could be engaged in a reasonable conversation.

"I knew the Viceroy would get to you," Han continued. "It's just my damn luck to end up with the softest Wookie in the galaxy for a partner. Y'know, you're the sensible one in this arrangement, the one that's supposed to keep us out of these messes. But the one time I actually want you to be sensible, like I'm being, you start getting these noble ideas that never lead to anything good for either of us...for once, just once, would it really be so hard to think like I do? Why do you always have to be so blasted _good_? Why do you always have to want to do the _right thing_ , huh?"

Rather than reply, Chewie merely folded his arms across his chest and remained silent, inviting Han to continue if he so wished.

Han was not placated by the Wookie's restraint. "Well I ain't getting dragged into this," he went on, gesturing forcefully to emphasise his stance. "If you wanna stick around here and protect Her Worshipfulness then that's up to you but I haven't got time to waste on that, not when Jabba's probably set every kriffing bounty hunter in the galaxy on me by now, so in the morning I'm getting the hell off this planet and I'm going to find work, _real_ work, 'cause I'm sure as hell not interested in spending any more time around that pain in the ass princess. We clear on that?"

Amidst all of his gesticulating, a piece of glawber root had been projected across the table from the piece of flatbread that Han was still holding and had landed in the fur of Chewie's left arm. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, the Wookie carelessly flicked it away.

" _Are you finished?"_ he asked calmly. _"If you have not, could you at least put the bread down so that I do not end up wearing any more of your meal?"_

Fixing Chewie with a glare of challenge rather than one of apology, Han popped the piece of bread into his mouth and chewed slowly. Chewie suppressed a sigh, priming himself for yet another battle of wills.

" _Now that you have gotten all of that off your chest, maybe we can now discuss this civilly before either of us rush into making any hasty decisions."_

"I've already made my mind up and it ain't changing so there's no need for a discussion," Han replied sharply. "Kest, Chewie, you've been nagging at me for months about us needing to focus on paying off this debt, to stop getting distracted. And now we can finally do that, you wanna get us involved in this Rebellion?"

" _I am not the one who has been distracted,"_ Chewie snapped. _"We could have begun paying off our debt months ago, we might even have paid it all off by now if you had not had us chasing after Bria. And the only reason we are here now is because you managed to get yourself captured by the Rebellion while we were following another one of your blasted leads that never get us anywhere."_

"You've got some nerve," intoned Han in a guttural growl that sounded almost more Wookie than human. "In case you forgot, I never asked you to come looking for _that woman_. And the debt is _my_ debt, not yours, so feel free to stay here if you want while I get around to dealing with it."

" _If I have to tell you one more time that it is_ our _debt, I might just hand you over to Jabba myself and be rid of you once and for all."_

"You just try it, pal.

Chewie huffed in frustration, annoyed at himself for allowing their exchange to devolve into another petty squabble that would accomplish nothing. Mustering as calm a voice as he could manage in the wake of Han's outburst, he attempted to steer their discussion back in a constructive direction.

" _If you really want to get the debt to Jabba settled then it makes sense that we at least consider the Viceroy's offer. He is willing to pay us, Han, it is not as though there is not anything in this deal for us...three months is no time at all, not really, and when they are up we might have earned enough credits to at least start setting things right with Jabba."_

"I said no, Chewie."

" _Why are you so set against this? It is work, Han, work that we need. What other options do we have? You said it yourself, every two-bit bounty hunter from here to the Unknown Regions is probably looking for us by now; how long can we outrun them all while we try to come up with the credits we owe? We would be safe here at least."_

Han leaned in closer, bracing his elbows on the Dejarik table.

"We're smugglers, Furball, not bodyguards. How in all the hells of Corellia are me and you going to keep that princess safe if she's really got the Empire gunning for her, huh?"

" _We have both learned a thing or two about staying one step ahead of the Empire over the years."_ Chewie knew that avoiding Imperial patrols while they were on smuggling assignments was an entirely different proposition to protecting someone that might have been targeted for elimination by the Empire. But he was content for the moment to focus on simply putting forth a compelling enough case for Han to at least consider the Viceroy's offer; the practicalities of how exactly they would ensure the princess' safety could wait until later.

" _I really think that you and I can do this,"_ the Wookie murmured in a conciliatory tone. _"Even if we did not need the credits, I would still believe that accepting the Viceroy's offer is the right thing to do...and I think you believe that too, no matter how much you might want to play the mercenary."_

"Honestly, Chewie, I could care less about doing the right thing. The first rule of life is look out for number one and that's what you and me need to be doing now, not worrying about some stuck up princess and her doomed little insurrection."

Chewie's patience faltered and he was unable to withhold a harsh bark of anger .

" _You may think that you are stuck with the softest Wookie in the galaxy,"_ he growled, pointing angrily at his partner as he spoke. _"But you are without doubt the most stubborn being I have ever known...I had heard of the stubbornness of Corellians long before I met you, but you really are infuriating."_

Before Han could respond, Chewie raised a hand to silence him; the two had known each other for long enough now that he knew exactly what the imminent riposte would be and was in no mood to hear it yet again.

" _If you tell me one more time that I am free to leave whenever I want, I promise you that I will space you out of the airlock the next time we go to lightspeed."_ Seemingly undeterred, Han opened his mouth to reply but Chewie cut him off again. _"I mean it, Solo. After everything we have been through together, I have had enough of you telling me that I can leave whenever I say something that you do not want to hear, particularly as you know that I have absolutely no intention of ever going anywhere."_

Chewie knew that Han's invitations for him to walk away from their partnership were all bluster, that his loyalty had never and would never be brought into question. And while he knew that resorting to saying such things was merely Han's way of attempting to escape from a discussion that wasn't unfolding as he wanted, Chewie nonetheless felt that he was due a little more respect from his partner; after a decade spent alongside one another, it shouldn't have been beyond them to resolve a disagreement through rational discussion.

Han, for his part, appeared contrite. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze drifting from the surface of the Dejarik table to the technical station, fixing his gaze on anything but the imposing Wookie that was sitting across from him. Chewie remained silent, watching and waiting; there were few things that Han hated more than being called out on his purposeful evasiveness, on his hard-headed refusal to back down even when he was arguing something that he knew made perfect sense.

"I'm sorry," he finally muttered. "I'll stop doing that."

" _I would appreciate it if you did."_

An awkward silence then descended, during which Han contemplatively ate what remained of his flatbread while Chewie wondered if and how their exchange might now progress. He hadn't expected Han to apologise, to acknowledge his own pettiness without any attempt to excuse it. But Chewie was only too willing to accept that apology and hoped that it was a sign that Han's bad temper had waned.

"I dunno, Chewie," Han said with a heavy sigh, pushing aside his empty bowl and beginning to rhythmically tap the tips of his fingernails against the Dejarik table. "This whole thing is crazy...I've just got a bad feeling about sticking around here, can't shake this hunch that it's only gonna make things worse for us."

" _Can things really get any worse? We have been running from Jabba for six months now, the debt we owe him had probably become a Death Mark."_

Han chuckled.

"Well, when you put it like that I guess you've got a point." His expression sobered. "But the thing is, handling scum like Jabba is what we know, it's what we've dealt with for the last ten years. But the Rebellion, the Empire, the princess...they're not like Jabba. What business do we have getting involved with any of that, huh? We're free, we go where we wanna go and do what we wanna do...why give that up?"

" _Because we are not free Han, not anymore."_

There had been occasions in recent months, like this one, when Chewie had wondered whether Han was either in denial about the severity of their plight with Jabba or simpy had yet fully comprehend the increasing peril they were both facing. He reasoned that perhaps the situation with Bria, Han's preoccupation with finding her, had simply blinded him to everything but his search for answers. But the Wookie was in no doubt that the walls were now closing in around them both, that there would soon be no place left for them to hide from Jabba's wrath.

" _We could leave in the morning, turn down the Viceroy's offer and look for work elsewhere,"_ he pressed on. _"But we both know that work is not going to be easy to find now - you and Zadasso hate each other so we cannot go to him, the Jarvin Clan will have nothing to with us while we are in debt to Jabba, the Vannolts will never trust us again after that stunt that you and Lando pulled the last time we did a job for them. We really do not have any options left beyond the one that the Viceroy is offering... we are living on borrowed time, Han, you know that as well as I do."_

"And if the Viceroy was asking us to run supplies for his revolution then I might have been interested," Han retorted. "But protecting that princess is only gonna brings us more problem that we don't need. Fact is Chewie, Organa is going on blind faith with this plan and that's not how I work."

" _That is not true, I think he sees this situation in the same way that I do."_

"And what way is that?"

" _I just find it difficult to believe that everything that has happened over the past few days can be put down purely to happenstance,"_ Chewie answered. _"I know that you will disagree, that you will hate me saying this, but I think we were brought here for a reason."_

"I knew you'd say that," Han groaned, closing his eyes and allowing his head to fall back and rest on the worn leather of the banquette.

" _And perhaps I am right to do so. Think about it Han, think about the significance of you meeting the Viceroy so soon after meeting his daughter on Coruscant, of the circumstances of it all. You cannot just dismiss everything as simple coincidence, no matter how much you might want to."_

"Yeah, actually I can, 'cause that's exactly what it is. This ain't destiny Chewie, there's not some mystical power pulling the strings here."

" _Fatalism is not the same as mysticism,"_ Chewie replied simply.

"Call it whatever you want, it doesn't matter," Han snapped. "Fate didn't bring us here - Bria did, all of this goes back to her; she was the reason I went to Coruscant, she was the reason why Javek gave me the coordinates to Ranolta when we were on Tresta Outpost. Fates got nothing to do with this, we ended up here 'cause of Bria, it's that simple."

" _Well after all of the problems that she has caused us both, maybe this is fate's way of making amends for Bria's choices and actions, of giving us one last chance to move on from what she did."_ Chewie leaned in closer to the table imploring Han to recognise this opportunity for what it was. _"You promised me back on Tresta that you would be finished with her after Ranolta, that you wanted to move on from her...well, what better way is there to do that than by ridding ourselves of this debt? The only reason we owe those credits to Jabba is because we took a risk in trying to earn back the money that Bria stole from us...when we repay that debt, there will be nothing left to tie us to her."_

That, in Chewie's mind, was an important factor in whatever decision they now arrived at. Given that there seemed no real likelihood of them ever finding Bria, he wanted to excise all traces of her from their lives; for as long as they remained in debt to Jabba, they were bound to Bria, haunted by the consequences of their betrayal at her hands.

Though Han had promised to now abandon his search for her, if he were to ever completely move on from the pain that Bria had inflicted on him then Chewie knew that they would have to sever this last remaining link to her.

" _Just give this a chance,"_ the Wookie pleaded. _"I really think that we can make this work, Cub."_

"I thought we agreed that you wouldn't call me that anymore," Han grumbled. "Makes me feel like a damn kid that's done something wrong whenever you do."

" _Convincing you to see sense is the only thing more challenging than stopping my son from behaving as recklessly as you whenever I tell him about some of the ridiculous situations that you have gotten us into over the years...I suppose that side of your character brings out some of my paternal instincts,"_ Chewie said wistfully.

"Y'know, I figure we're due a stopover on Kashyyyk pretty soon," Han replied, grabbing the opportunity to change the subject of their discussion. "It's been a while since you last saw your family."

Chewie bowed his head in grateful acceptance of Han's offer.

Han's willingness, that sometimes bordered on eagerness, to ensure that Chewie maintained contact with his family had long been one of the cornerstones of both their friendship and business partnership. He had never been under any obligation to be so accommodating; when they'd first met, Chewie had certainly harboured no expectations that the brash and seemingly insular Corellian was capable of such empathy. But Han had always been adamant that he would not be the cause of any estrangement between Chewie and his family and so insisted that they visit Kashyyyk whenever circumstances allowed, having found something of a surrogate home and family of his own on the planet.

The last time they'd ventured to Kashyyyk, it had been in the immediate aftermath of Bria's betrayal and Chewie was only too happy to welcome any opportunity to see his wife again, to see how much his son had grown. But he was prepared to wait just a little while longer to do so.

" _I would like that,"_ he said. _"And we can go to Kashyyyk in three months, once we have rid ourselves of this blasted debt and are free to finally get on with our lives."_

Han grimaced.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" he asked.

" _Not this time,"_ Chewie answered, shaking his head. _"I cannot force you to do anything and whether or not we accept the Viceroy's offer will ultimately be your decision. But I will not pretend that I do not want to do this...in truth, I feel that I owe it to the Viceroy and the little princess to do this."_

"Why do you think you owe them anything? You only met them a couple of hours ago."

" _Because of what they have done for Kashyyyk,"_ replied Chewie. _"It takes great courage to speak out against the Empire, to speak up for those of us that have had our own voices silenced. Three months of service is a small price to pay in gratitude for what they have done on behalf of Wookies across the galaxy...it is beings like them that give me hope that my son will not have to endure any of the things that I did before you and I met."_

"And I get that, Chewie, I really do." Han scrubbed his face wearily with his hand. "Problem is, I know you too well. You got too big a heart pal, you'll start out wanting to help Organa and his daughter but then you'll let yourself get dragged into their Rebellion and three months from now you'll be telling me you want to stick around here to fight their war for them."

" _We are not being asked to fight a war or join the Rebel Alliance, Han, the Viceroy just wants us to keep his daughter safe...a father is asking for our help, is prepared to trust us to protect someone that is so precious to him...if we refused and something then happened to the princess, I am not sure I would be able to live with myself...perhaps you are right and we will not be able to make a difference if the Empire really does mean to do her harm, but I am still ready to do everything that I can to prevent **anyone** from hurting her."_

Han shifted uneasily in his seat but Chewie could sense his partner's resolve beginning to wane. Their disagreements often ran this course, one where Han's initial stubbornness and bluster would subside enough that they could begin to settle any discord. Chewie knew better than anyone else that Han was too principled a person, too good a person, to simply refuse and walk away from a favour such as the one that Viceroy Organa had asked of them; even if there was no financial reward on offer, Chewie still suspected that Han would have done the right thing, as he so often did.

But having navigated their exchange so carefully, having reached a point where it seemed as though they were now at least close to an agreement, Chewie was wary of overplaying his hand and undoing the progress that had been made.

So he waited, again, for Han to initiate the next step.

"You're right," the Corellian finally conceded. "As much as I hate to admit it, you're right, 'specially about us needing the money to get Jabba off our backs." He scratched the back of his head irritably, visibly struggling to vocalise his next line of thought. "It's just...she's just so... _mouthy_."

That caught Chewie off guard.

" _Please try not to call Princess Organa that in anyone else's company,"_ he admonished with a low growl, by now painfully accustomed to Han's lack of propriety. _"She is not 'mouthy', as you put it, in any case, she is...spirited. And it is not like you to be intimidated so easily."_

"What the hell are you talking about? Who said I'm intimidated by her?"

" _That is what it seems like from where I am sitting,"_ replied Chewie wryly, folding his long arms behind his head and smirking. _"I thought you would enjoy the challenge of trying to keep pace with someone who seems to be just as smart-mouthed as you are. Or is this particular challenge one that you already know you cannot win?"_

"You just watch _your_ mouth, pal," warned Han good-naturedly. "I ain't afraid of no challenge...not that Her Worship _would_ be a challenge. She's probably just used to always being told whatever she wants to hear, never met someone like me who just calls things exactly as I see 'em."

Chewie, who considered himself to be an impeccable judge of character, recognised that there was far more to Princess Leia Organa than Han was prepared to acknowledge, although that was unsurprising given the somewhat contentious back-and-forth that the Corellian had engaged in with her earlier that evening.

" _It was a very brave and selfless thing that you did back on Coruscant,"_ he said earnestly. Chewie knew that Han would continue to brush off any praise for his actions in going to the princess' aid but their venture to Alderaan and encounter with the Viceroy and his daughter had given the Wookie a far greater appreciation of his captain's good deed. _"You are a good man, Han...perhaps not the easiest one to get along with at times, but I am truly proud and grateful to be your friend."_

"Kest, Chewie, ease up on all that sentimental stuff. You trying to make me cry or something?"

Though Han had brushed off the compliment with all of his typical bravado, Chewie knew that he would nonetheless take the words to heart and appreciate them.

"I'm not saying I wanna be called a hero or anything," Han went on, with something of a bitter tone now, "but you'd think Her Royal Highnessness would be a bit more grateful for what I did."

" _She is very grateful, I have no doubt of that,"_ warbled Chewie gently. _"It seemed to me that the princess was simply taken by surprise by everything that happened earlier and lashed out...so she is not unlike you in that respect."_

"Yeah well, the thought of spending three months around her ain't exactly an appealing one."

" _Well, the Viceroy is not employing us to become friends with the princess. But you never know, perhaps with time and patience you might both find that you have enough in common that you will be able to get along with one another."_

"I wouldn't count on that, buddy," said Han blithely.

" _So, you are going to accept the Viceroy's offer then?"_

It certainly seemed to Chewie that they had now found enough common ground to move forward in agreement Having worked through his initial anger and frustration at their current situation, Han appeared to have reconciled himself to the unavoidable truth that a potential solution to all of their problems was now at hand.

Not that he seemed willing to openly admit that; Han sat in silence for a prolonged moment, his mouth twisted in thought as he considered Chewie's question.

"I'll tell you what," he finally said, "I'll think it over tonight and decide in the morning. And I promise, I'll make the right decision for the both of us... deal?"

Chewie nodded his agreement and watched as Han gathered together their now-empty dinner dishes and carried them through to the ship's galley.

While Han precoccupied himself with cleaning up, Chewie reclined in his seat at the banquette and silently congratulated himself on what he felt had been a well-played part in the evening's exchange. Though Han was trying to maintain his visage of evasive reluctance, Chewie knew that a critical breakthrough had been made in their earlier impasse and was confident now that the two of them would be spending considerably more time on Alderaan in the months that lay ahead.

It remained to be seen whether their commitment to protecting the princess would lead to them being dragged into a war; in that moment, Chewie was content simply to have won this particular battle of wills with his partner.


	11. Chapter 11

_Once again, this is not everything that I intended to include in this chapter; originally it was going to be two parts but it's been so difficult to write (this is the fifth complete rewrite that I've done) that I just want to get something published and so have decided that the second part will instead be a chapter in itself._

 _I am not going to set an ETA for the next chapter because I clearly am not very good at keeping to the schedules that I set for myself. I think it's been a couple of months since the last update to this story so all I can do is promise that it won't take that long for Chapter 12 to be finished and posted. I am planning another story at the moment so I'm having to divide my time between that project and this one but I am working on the next update._

 _I hope this chapter will prove to have been worth the wait for anyone who is following the story. And thank you to everyone that has taken the time to leave a review so far, please keep doing so.  
_

* * *

 _ **11**_

Over the course of nineteen years that had been spent harbouring secrets that would tear the galaxy apart at its seams if they were ever exposed, Breha Organa had become accustomed to disquietude.

She had spent so much of that time feeling as though she was being swept along on a tide of fear and revolution, cut adrift on Alderaan while those she loved most were placing their lives in jeopardy in the pursuit of a brighter future and the fall of a dictatorship. And though she tried to bury all of her anxieties and concerns internally, kept them concealed so that her husband and daughter would see and feel only her unwavering support for them and their cause, Breha could not escape the foreboding sense that all of her and Bail's carefully cultivated plans and cherished secrets would soon unravel.

In truth, she had always known that such a time would come. When Bail had placed Leia in her arms for the very first time, he had calmly explained to her all of the circumstances that had led to that moment: the truth of Leia's parentage, the danger she would face if her biological father and the newly-anointed Emperor ever discovered her existence, the hope that had been invested in her by what remained of the Jedi Council to someday set right everything that had gone so horribly wrong. Leia, Bail had said, was special and so adopting and raising her as their own would carry both great risk and great responsibility.

They had both longed so desperately for a child for so long that Breha had not given any real consideration to those risks. Although she had been heartbroken that the child had had to unknowingly suffer such tragedy and loss, Breha had been convinced that all of her prayers to the Gods for such a blessing had been answered, that Leia coming into their lives had been the design of a divine power.

She now sat on the same balcony of the palace on which she'd held Leia for the first time, once again contemplating the cruel irony that amidst the fall of democracy, the purge of the Jedi Order and the rise of a tyranny, such a miracle had befallen her family.

It was late now, long past midnight, but Breha had found it impossible to stop turning the events of the last few hours over in her mind for long enough to fall asleep.

She had been so looking forward to Bail's return for Ranolta the previous day, enthused to have good news to share with him.

In her efforts to find someone who could diagnose and prescribe a treatment for Breha's illness, Niram had found and made contact with an expert in haematology on Commenor who she believed might finally be able to offer them some real hope for a long-awaited resolution to the situation. And despite all of the disappointments she'd suffered so far, the false dawns of so many specialists trying but ultimately failing to help her, Breha had allowed herself to believe that an end to the pain and uncertainty she'd had to live with for months was now blessedly in sight.

The burden of keeping the illness a secret from Leia and Winter had been a heavy one to bear. But both of them were so invested in their work that Breha had argued that it would have been unfair of her to give them one more thing to worry about, that it made sense to wait just a little while longer to tell them about her ill health so that tangible hope for her recovery might be offered alongside the truth. Bail and Niram had respected her wishes, although both had expressed their belief that neither Leia nor Winter would want to have such a secret kept from them. But Breha had been determined to retain some sense of control over the matter; at a time when so much seemed to be changing around her, she simply wanted to be able confront her illness in whatever way she deemed was necessary.

Upon Bail's arrival back on Alderaan, she had immediately taken him aside to share with him Niram's most recent breakthrough in her search to find someone who might finally be able to help Breha. And as he had done whenever they'd found a new lead to follow in recent months, Bail had reacted ecstatically, proclaiming again his certainty that this lead would be the one that would finally give them the answers that had so proved so elusive, that Breha would soon be on her way back to full health and they could then put this most trying of times in their life behind them.

But Breha had sensed very quickly that something was troubling her husband. During dinner he had told about his frustrations with the command staff on Alliance and shared his concerns about an Alliance intelligence operation that he and Mon Mothma had recently agreed to approve. But Breha knew him well enough to recognise that he was withholding something and she intuited that it had nothing to do with the Rebellion.

She had retired to bed alone, Bail having mentioned that there was something he needed to attend to before he could join her, and in spite of the constant tiredness and lethargy that now plagued her, Breha had been unable to relax her mind enough to sleep. Her husband's earlier reticence had been so uncharacteristic that she'd lain awake, imagining all manner of awful scenarios that might be so distressing that Bail had taken it upon himself to keep a secret from her, something he had vowed to never do.

Every one of those scenarios centred around their daughter.

The ordeal that Leia had been put through on Coruscant had shaken them both. Neither were naive enough to believe that the nature of Leia's work in the Senate did not carry the threat of consequences; she was doing her utmost to unsettle the political establishment, to draw attention to the Imperial Navy's sinister activities in the Outer Rim, to expose the corruption that had blighted galactic politics since before the rise of the Empire. Breha had long ago stopped watching or reading any reports on the HoloNet so that she could avoid the Empire's persistent attempts to smear Leia's name and reputation with their vicious propaganda. But to hear that Leia had been assaulted, to contemplate what might have happened had someone not intervened in the incident on her behalf, had been unbearable.

The incident had been the realisation of Breha's long-held fear of the danger that Leia would face if she ever entered into politics. Neither she nor Breha had ever sought to stifle Leia's ambitions or withhold her from achieving everything that they knew she was capable of, but both of them were mindful of their daughter's impulsive nature, the readiness with which she was prepared to put herself at risk for the benefit of others.

Breha would never forget the sleepless nights that she and her husband had endured when it had become apparent that Leia had indeed set her heart on a career in the Senate. She'd been fourteen then, angry at the state of the galaxy she'd been born into and driven by an idealistic determination to make a difference. But the thought of her spending prolonged time on Coruscant, in such close proximity to the demons that Bail and Breha were so desperate to protect her from, had been a terrifying one.

The six months that had passed since Leia's election to serve as Alderaan's representative in the Senate had been tense ones but Bail was certain that he'd taken every precaution to ensure that she would be safe whenever she travelled to the capital; he had procured an apartment in the heart of the bustling political district, hired the best security detail he could find to watch over her and Winter, had permitted both of them to be trained in a variety of self-defence techniques. Leia, he'd insisted, was responsible enough to avoid any situation where she might be put at needless risk and he'd implored Breha to trust that their daughter would not come to any harm.

And despite her apprehension, Breha had trusted in his surety.

In truth, she'd spent the past nineteen years beholden to and trusting in Bail's judgement. When he'd first brought Leia to Alderaan, he had already devised the plan that he was convinced would safeguard the truth of Leia's lineage and allow her to prosper into the remarkable young woman that she had become.

That Leia was adopted, he'd decided, would not be kept a secret; pretending otherwise would have only engendered dangerous rumour and speculation. Instead, they would explain that Leia was an orphan of the Clone Wars that had been placed in their care by an Alderaanian missionary who'd found her somewhere in the Mid Rim. While certain truths had had to remain a secret for Leia's sake, Bail had resolved that they would not shield her from what had then been a new reality for the galaxy; if she were to fulfil the latent potential that two exiled Jedi Masters had sensed she possessed, he'd insisted that Leia would have to be cognisant of everything she would one day need to overcome. And should her life's path lead her to follow in the footsteps of her birth mother and into politics, Bail had been adamant that neither he nor Breha should stand in her way out of fear that she may meet the same fate that Padme Amidala had.

That was what Bail did, what he excelled at; he made plans, prepared contingencies, strategized meticulously.

For nearly two decades now, he'd had to contend with so much: matters of state on Alderaan, his duties in the Senate, protecting his family and leading the Rebellion. Yet Bail had never once complained in all of that time about the pressures of any of those responsibilities; on the contrary, Breha thought that her husband was truly in his element when he was faced with a problem that needed to be solved. He was a remarkable man in every respect, a principled politician and stoic leader, a wonderful husband and devoted father.

But, for the very first time, Breha now questioned whether his judgement could be flawed.

She hated herself for it, hated that she'd allowed any such doubts to take hold in her mind. But his most recent plan, one that he had set in motion on Ranolta, was perhaps the most precarious that he'd ever conceived of and Breha had found herself pondering whether it was one he'd arrived at through logical reasoning or out of sheer desperation.

When Bail had finally joined her in their quarters, she had vainly hoped that he would put her mind at ease, tell her that whatever was troubling him was some inconsequential matter that she needn't concern herself about.

Instead, he'd told her of the desperate feeling of guilt that he had been carrying for what he had deemed his own failure to better protect Leia, how he had been desperate to find some way to atone for her having to endure all of the pain and fear that she had suffered on Coruscant. He hadn't wanted to share any of this with his wife and worry her further, nor give her any reason to doubt that he could continue to keep their family safe, not until he had thought of a way to assuage his own self-doubts. And then, on Ranolta, he had met Captain Han Solo, the Corellian that had gone to Leia's aid on the capital, and was unable to believe that they'd crossed paths through mere happenstance; although he was not as spiritual a being as his wife, Bail said that it was almost as though the Gods had conspired to orchestrate the encounter, to lead him to the solution to his quandary that he might otherwise have never thought to seek.

Captain Solo and his accomplice, a Wookie named Chewbacca, were now on Alderaan, spending the night aboard their ship in one of the palace hangars, at Bail's invitation. It transpired that he had seen fit to entrust their daughter's safety to the two smugglers and had offered them employment as Leia's personal bodyguards. And though Leia had already expressed her own reservations, her reunion with Captain Solo the previous night having been a contentious one according to Bail, she was apparently prepared to at least give the proposed arrangement, and the belligerent-sounding Corellian, a chance to succeed.

Though Bail had acknowledged that his plan was an unconventional one, he had nevertheless been adamant that it would allay all of the fears and concerns that he and Breha both harboured for Leia. Han Solo, he'd insisted, was a good and principled man, one who should not be judged by his profession and could be trusted to keep Leia safe from harm.

He had been so earnest in his conviction that this course of action was the right one to take and Breha had wanted desperately to feel able to trust in it herself. But given that her husband had always been such a practical man, who believed so ardently in thorough planning and in weighing every possible risk so carefully against every potential reward, she could not help but fear that this particular plan seemed very much to be an uncharacteristic leap of faith on Bail's part; he was asking her to entrust their daughter's wellbeing, Leia's life, to a Corellian smuggler and his Wookie cohort, two complete strangers. And given the tumultuous nature of the galaxy, the jeopardy the Leia might be placing herself in through her attempts to covertly advance the Rebel Alliance's cause in the Senate, Breha was uncertain of whether she too could place so much of her own faith in the unknown.

Although she did harbour some concerns about Captain Solo, it was not his background or his profession that troubled her. In spite of her privileged upbringing, Breha had never been a judgemental person; while others might have been quick to dismiss the Corellian as little more than a common criminal, she knew that there may have been circumstances beyond Captain Solo's control that had compelled him to pursue a career in smuggling. And Breha did believe that his actions on Coruscant, what he had done for Leia, spoke highly of his calibre as a man.

But she did not understand how two smugglers could be expected to protect Leia against all of the threats that were seemingly now assailing her.

Hearing the Leia had been attacked by an Imperial officer had stirred a myriad of emotions that Breha had spent nineteen years battling to keep at bay. Irrespective of whether it had been a deliberate attempt to silence a political dissident or a random act of opportunistic evil, she felt that her family had arrived at a critical juncture, one they could not retreat away from and that would inevitably lead to her and Bail losing their daughter.

Knowing that such a moment had always been unavoidable did not make it any easier to bear now that it appeared so close at hand. Breha thought back to all of the discussions that she and Bail had had about when the time would be right to tell Leia the truth of her parentage, to let her go so that she could fulfil whatever destiny lay ahead of her. Though Bail had always been typically circumspect on the matter, choosing to remind Breha that they had both pledged upon adopting Leia that they would not seek to constrain her, Breha had always thought that they would have more time before they reached the point at which they had now arrived. It felt as though nineteen years had passed in the blink of an eye, that only yesterday Leia had still been a child; carefree, relentlessly inquisitive and mischievous.

Now she was a young woman, embroiled in politics and rebellious subterfuge, prepared to place her own life in jeopardy for the greater good of the galaxy, willingly shouldering responsibility for so much and for so many and yet still so desperate to do more.

Breha wanted to just slow time down, impossible though that was, and enjoy the privilege of being Leia's mother for just a little while longer. She felt helpless, a prisoner of the disquietude that she could no longer keep banished to the farthest recesses of her subconscious. Her life was irrevocably changing, its foundations eroding beneath her feet, and there was nothing she could do to affect it, to prevent her family from being torn apart by the cruel machinations of fate.

Hearing quiet footsteps behind her, Breha swiped at the tears that she had been unable to prevent falling and took in a deep breath of the crisp night air to ease the tightness in her throat.

"Breha?" Bail sat beside her, his warm eyes full of concern. He reached to cup her jaw, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb. "You look pale," he murmured. "Are you alright? Should I call for Niram?"

Breha shook her head in answer and Bail moved to take one of her hands in both of his, tracing invisible patterns upon her chilled skin.

"But something _is_ wrong," Bail deduced, trying to catch her eye even as his wife sought to avoid his gaze. "What is it, Love? Tell me."

Although she was not minded to hide anything from him, Breha was unsure of how she could articulate her present tumult of emotions. Bail was always so calm and composed in the face of any crisis and Breha had always felt that she owed it to him to be similarly resolute, to be his one constant source of unwavering support. To tell him everything that she was feeling now would entail admitting that she harboured doubts about his plan to protect Leia and that was something that she did not want to do.

"I was just thinking about the diplomatic incident that Leia nearly caused when she stole the Seswennan governor's tobacco," she said. "I can't believe that it was so long ago now...do you remember?"

It was clear that her response had not been the one that Bail had anticipated but he seemed content to follow her on this tangent for the moment and nodded in answer.

"I'll never forget it," he replied. "For a moment I really did believe that Seswenna might declare war on Alderaan over it."

"He really was a vile human being," Breha continued. "We'd expected him to be, given that he came here to convince you to end your opposition to a pro-slavery bill. And that foul-smelling tobacco..."

She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the memory, doubting that she would ever be able to forget the stench of the smoke that had wafted from the governor's pipe, how it had seemed to permeate and linger in every room of the palace for days after his departure from their home.

"I will admit that that was one of the more testing experiences of my political career," said Bail. "He was one of the most unpleasantly obstinate individuals that I've encountered. But, thankfully, he truly met his match in Leia that day."

Breha remembered the terse exchange that had taken place between her husband and the governor well, the stark contrast between their conflicting outlooks on the matter that had been at hand; Bail's impassioned opposition to the practice of slavery had been a cornerstone of his political career and he was the loudest voice amongst those in the Senate who had led calls for the institution to be abolished in the waning years of the Republic. The governor, however, had been immovably firm in his opinion that slavery was a necessary and entirely excusable facet of galactic expansion and was leading Seswenna's proposal that the archaic laws which had existed at the time to regulate the use of slaves be relaxed. Unable to move past their impasse they'd arrived at, it had seemed as though the governor might be able to return to Seswenna having routed the leader of the opposition to the planet's pro-slavery agenda before Leia had made her unexpected but vital contribution to the debate.

She had interrupted the meeting, aware of the reason why it was being held and, having engrossed herself in the history of slavery in preparation for the occasion, was desperate to have her say. Despite only being nine-years-old at the time, she had somehow expressed her own stance on the matter in such a simple yet irrefutably accomplished way that the governor had been too taken aback to present a counter-argument. So he had dismissed Leia as little more than a naive and insolent child and had accused Bail and Breha of not teaching their daughter to hold her tongue in the presence of an elder and intellectual superior.

Whereas Bail and Breha had both been ready to respond to the governor's insults in a very undiplomatic manner, Leia, to her parents' great surprise, had simply offered a polite apology for any offense that her interjection in the meeting had caused and taken her leave.

But when the governor had later discovered that his pipe and tobacco had gone missing, Breha had known immediately that Leia was responsible.

The governor had been apoplectic with rage, ranting that the tobacco was an expensive brand that could only be sourced from a rare weed that grew on Felucia and accusing the Royal House of Alderaan of harbouring immoral thieves amongst its staff. The meeting had swiftly denigrated into a sustained diatribe not simply against the Organa family and Alderaan, but eventually also their allies in the Senate and their long suspected ties to the Rebel Alliance.

Having failed to overcome Bail's resistance to his planet's slavery bill, the governor had sworn vengeance for the humiliation and indignity that he had been subjected to. But just as he had been about to depart the palace to return to Seswenna, his pipe and tobacco had suddenly reappeared and he had eventually concluded that they had to have been unknowingly misplaced by himself at an earlier point.

Leia had justified her actions by arguing that sometimes calm heads and rational debate were not always sufficient tools of diplomacy if one hoped to impart some measure of humility on bigots like the governor and when Seswenna's slavery bill later failed to gain enough support to be passed in the Senate, Bail had proudly declared that the victory belonged solely to his daughter.

"How do you think the governor reacted when he discovered that Leia had mixed Corellian fire-spice into his tobacco?" asked Breha wistfully.

"I can only imagine," Bail replied wistfully; even years later, Breha knew her husband still regretted that he had been unable to witness the governor's outburst upon realising that his precious, noxious tobacco had been sabotaged. "You know, I always thought that Leia might go into politics...she's always had that spark, that drive to make a difference for as long as I can remember. But that was the day I realised for certain that her future lay in the Senate."

On reflection, Breha realised that that day had offered a glimpse into a future that was now their present; Leia, unbowed in the face of her adversary, speaking up for what was right with a maturity and wisdom that was beyond her years while her parents watched on with immense pride.

"It's strange," she said, emerging from her reverie, "that memories like that come back to me in moments like this, when I realise how powerless I am to prevent things from changing in ways that I don't want them to...does that ever happen to you?"

Bail seemed pensive as he caressed the palm of her hand.

"Sometimes," he answered, his brow furrowing. "But I am not in a position where I can ever afford to allow myself to feel powerless so I find it is best to look forward rather than dwell too much on the past."

He leant in closer to her, his concern now palpable.

"Breha, please talk to me," he implored his wife. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Everything is going to change, Bail," Breha answered tremulously. "All that we've dreaded for the past nineteen years, everything we've feared...we're going to lose her."

Strangely, it appeared that Bail seemed more resigned than surprised or saddened by her response, as though he had somehow expected it. Breha wondered how transparent she might have unknowingly been when he'd talked her through his plan earlier that night; she'd thought that she had masked her trepidation, fulfilled her duties as his steadfastly supportive wife. But Bail had seemingly seen through her facade and elected not to acknowledge it.

Breha was struck suddenly by the lines that now creased her husband's face, the grey that now tinged his hair, and pondered whether it owed simply to the natural passing of time or if she had just not looked closely enough until that moment to recognise that everything they'd all had to go through and endure had taken far more of a toll on Bail that he had allowed her or anyone else to see.

"I suspected you felt like this," he admitted in a sombre tone, grasping her hand a little more tightly. "I know that everything that has happened over the past few days has to have shaken you, Breha, it has all shaken me far more than I would like to admit. But I promise you, we are _not_ going to lose Leia."

"I was always afraid of what might happen if Leia ever took up politics...I can't stop thinking about Padme, about everything she went through and I'm terrified that Leia will suffer like she did."

"We will not allow that to happen." Bail drew closer, placing his arm around her shoulder and Breha let her head fall to rest upon his chest. "But we also cannot hold her back, Love. We both swore that we wouldn't let what happened to Padme dictate how we raised Leia, that we would let her follow her own path."

"But that was nineteen years ago." Breha fought to maintain her composure, to let Bail's closeness soothe and console her frayed emotions as she continued to speak. "It's ridiculous to say this given the awful things that were happening at the time but it all seemed so simple when she came to us…she was everything we both wanted, everything we thought we'd never have, we would have done and promised anything to keep her, and raise her, and love her…but it's far harder to keep those promises that we made when all of the fears that we had for Leia then are becoming our reality now."

"I know, but we both understood all of the risks that we were taking, the things we might have to do so that we could keep Leia safe...this is just something that we have to overcome, Breha, something that we just have to see through."

He somehow managed to make everything sound so straightforward, like the situation they now found themselves in was merely some minor complication that could be easily navigated and resolved. In Breha's mind, it felt more akin to the long-dreaded but ultimately inevitable beginning of the end of everything that had been initiated nearly two decades earlier, in the very place they now sat together .

"I'm just as scared as you are," Bail continued, tenderly kneading her shoulder. "I'm terrified by all of this, by what happened on Coruscant, and I have to live with the knowledge that there is nothing that any of my plotting or scheming could have done to prevent it." He paused but Breha had not missed the slight hitch in his voice. "I can't begin to tell you how that feels," he went on, "knowing that I failed, knowing what _could_ have happened had someone not had the decency to intervene...but I will not allow Leia to ever suffer like that again."

Though she would never voice such a thought, Breha had begun to contemplate whether she and Bail would be able protect Leia for much longer, whether the incident on Coruscant was a harbinger of what lay ahead at the hands of the dark forces that had always lingered on the horizon of their family's future. Like Bail, she was not minded to jump to conclusions or immediately assume the very worst, even in the midst of a crisis. But, given everything that Leia was trying to accomplish in the Senate, Breha could not help but fear that further attempts on their daughter's life were unavoidable; the Empire would not tolerate her overt dissidence indefinitely, particularly if Leia was successful in persuading neutral systems to align with her cause. And given that Leia was surely suspected of being involved in some way with the Alliance, as Bail had been throughout his own political career, Breha was sure that she would not have gone unnoticed by the Emperor and his acolytes.

"I'm scared Bail," she admitted quietly. "I don't know what we should do."

"We will take each day as it comes," Bail replied simply, in as steady and assured a voice as he could muster. "We will be strong for Leia and continue to support her as we always have, and we'll trust that, by the grace of the Gods and with the will of the Force, Han and Chewbacca will keep her safe whenever she is away from us."

Again, he sounded so confident and Breha knew that would she have to press him further on this plan of his, not because she wanted to express any doubts over its practicality or give Bail any reason to believe that she was losing faith in him; she simply wanted to understand why he was so sure that it was the correct course of action to take, to be able to believe in it as Bail did.

"You really think they can do that, don't you?" she asked cautiously. "You really trust that these two smugglers you've found on Ranolta will be able to protect Leia?

She lifted her head so that she could look at her husband, to gauge whether his eyes held the same conviction with which he would surely attempt to answer her.

"I do," he affirmed.

"Why?"

It took a moment for him to respond. Breha watched as one corner of his mouth involuntarily quirked upward, a trait that she had learned long ago indicated that Bail was giving very careful thought to his response.

"Intuition," he eventually settled on.

At the quizzical expression on his wife's face that his answer had prompted, Bail chuckled. He patted her hand and placed it in her lap before rising to his feet so that he could look out over the twilight skyline of Aldera, his gaze following the passage of the sparse traffic that was landing at and departing from the city's spaceport.

"If there is one thing that the past nineteen years have taught me," he said, "it is that there are occasions when I simply have to follow my instincts and accept that not every aspect of our lives can be planned and plotted...to borrow a phrase that I hear is something of a motto amongst the Alliance's fighter squadrons, you simply have to go with your gut."

"And you believe that this is one of those occasions?"

Bail nodded.

"When Winter told me what had happened on Coruscant," he began to explain, "I realised immediately the mistake I'd made in arranging Leia's security: I'd thought too logically. I took every conventional measure I could think of and hoped that it would all be enough. But that is where I went wrong, Breha...I took a conventional approach to a situation that has never been conventional."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I underestimated the extent of the dangers that Leia might face," Bail answered. "I realise now that all of those measures I took to protect her were never going to be adequate, not for Leia - given everything she is trying to accomplish in the Senate, everything that she represents in this galaxy, it was always inevitable that the Empire would target her. And in order to get the better of such an enemy, one that is capable of depravities that we are not, we have to think in ways that they will not expect...that is where Han figures into this, as an unconventional solution to an unconventional problem."

He sat beside her again on the balcony's parapet, replacing his arm around her shoulders.

"You know I've never set much store in fate or the idea of divine intervention," he went on quietly. "That is the one thing that you and I tend to disagree on. But when I first met Han on Ranolta, I just couldn't believe that the circumstances were merely coincidental...I knew that there was a purpose to it. And when I spoke with him, I realised very quickly that he was someone I could trust."

"Enough to protect our daughter?"

"Yes," Bail answered without hesitation.

"And why are you so convinced that we can trust Captain Solo?"

It was uncharacteristic of Bail to be so trusting of anyone that he barely knew. Breha understood that that owed to his years spent in the duplicitous political arena of the Senate and the secretive nature of his role within the Rebellion; Bail was duly wary upon meeting anyone, a perceptive and very shrewd judge of character. And yet, he had seemingly seen fit to invite Captain Solo into his inner circle within hours of their first encounter and had subsequently divulged secrets that could have conceivably endangered thousands of lives had he misjudged the Corellian's integrity.

"Well, his actions on Coruscant obviously spoke very highly of his qualities as a human being," Bail responded. "In truth, he's something of a paradox...an honourable man in a dishonourable profession. I sense that there is far more to him than first meets the eye, that he perhaps has not had the easiest of lives, which would explain why he isn't particularly forthcoming about himself. But the choice that Han made on Coruscant told me everything that I need to know about him – he is a good man, Breha, I am certain of that."

Breha had no intention of disputing that assertion. Besides his selflessness in going to Leia's aid, Captain Solo had done something exceedingly brave during his lifetime to earn the Corellian Bloodstripe, an increasingly uncommon but galaxy-renowned military honour of the utmost prestige. But it was his association with a Wookie that had most intrigued Breha when Bail had first told her of everything that had recently happened on Coruscant.

Years earlier, before she had ascended to the throne and was serving as an aide to Alderaan's Minister of Education, Breha had herself encountered a Wookie during an ambassadorial assignment to Hosnian Prime; Dewlanna had escaped from a band of vicious Trandoshan slavers and Breha had granted her shelter aboard the Minister's consular ship and offered safe passage to an outpost in the Corellian system where the Wookie had hoped to find her exiled life-mate. Though the time she'd spent in Dewlanna's company had been brief, the experience had nonetheless left an indelible impression on Breha and had imbued in her a far greater understanding of not only the suffering that Wookies were so cruelly and unjustly subjected to throughout the galaxy, but also an appreciation of their wisdom and nobility, their steadfast strength of will and their unwavering loyalty.

In the time that had passed since they'd parted ways, Breha had often wondered what might have become of Dewlanna. And when she had first heard of Chewbacca, she knew intuitively that Captain Solo had to have done something extraordinary to attain the companionship of a Wookie, that the loyalty of a Wookie was earned and not granted freely.

"And as far as Han's credentials as a bodyguard are concerned," Bail went on, "there were four members of an Alliance patrol still being treated in our medical centre on Ranolta when I left there, all of whom could vouch for his ingenuity and resourcefulness when he is threatened."

"I imagine that such qualities are essential for anyone in his line of work."

"As do I," said Bail. "That did play a part in my thinking...I can't claim to have had dealings with many smugglers but I expect that merely surviving in such a profession is dependent on one's ability to identify danger quickly so that it can be avoided, to always stay a step ahead of their adversaries."

"Which, of course, is precisely what we would require of anyone that we trust to protect Leia."

Breha was now beginning to understand her husband's logic, why the idea of employing such an unorthodox individual as Captain Solo as a bodyguard for their daughter had appealed to Bail.

"So you see, there is rationale to this plan," said Bail. "I spent enough years in the Senate to know that we have more to fear than the Empire, Breha. The likes of Orn Free Taa will target Leia in their pathetic attempts to ingratiate themselves to Palpatine and there are no depths to which they won't sink to try and gain the Emperor's favour...I know how their minds work, that they would think nothing of resorting to violence and intimidation to get what they want."

Breha could appreciate that particular line of thinking. She was not naive enough to believe that all who intended to do Leia harm would be dressed in an Imperial uniform; with every impassioned speech that Leia made in the Senate, the more entrenched that her public stand against all of the evils that plagued the galaxy had become, it only stood to reason that her list of adversaries would lengthen and extend beyond politics.

"When you explain it in that way, this plan does begin to make sense."

"I know that I should have about this with you before I made any decisions," Bail conceded. "But I hope you trust that I really have thought this through very carefully and am not relying simply on blind faith to keep Leia safe."

"I do." Breha reached out a hand to gently stroke her husband's cheek. "I'm sorry if it has seemed as though I've doubted you...this has just all been a lot to take in and make sense of."

"Breha, I give you my word that I know what I am doing...and that I will not allow _anyone_ to ever hurt Leia again."

They sat together in silence for several minutes thereafter, the crown of Breha's head tucked comfortably beneath her husband's chin, while she contemplated everything that Bail had told her. It hadn't eased all of the fear that had prompted her earlier restlessness but she was content for the moment to simply feel somewhat reassured.

In spite of her own lingering trepidation, Breha resolved to find solace in Bail's certainty that his plan would succeed. She knew beyond doubt that life as she had known it for nineteen years would soon change irrevocably; while she and Bail would continue to do anything they deemed necessary to protect Leia, they were both powerless to alter the course of their daughter's destiny. For the moment, Breha determined to savour every remaining moment that her family had left together before fate made its inevitable and unwelcome intervention to wreak its havoc on everyone and everything she loved most in the galaxy. And when that happened, she was prepared to face whatever lay ahead with all of the strength and resilience that she could muster, to fight for a better future that would be free from suffering and oppression.

A sudden thought struck her.

"You said earlier that Leia wasn't happy about this arrangement with Captain Solo and Chewbacca when you first told her about it," she said, not moving her head from where it rested against her husband. "Do you foresee that causing any problems in your plan?"

"I don't," answered Bail. "Leia understands that I have acted in her best interests. In time, I am sure that she and Han will find some common ground but I think seeing each other again so unexpectedly caught them both off guard, particularly given the circumstances in which they first met – I actually believe that they're quite similar in some aspects." He chuckled quietly. "You know how Leia can be, she's... _spirited_."

"Others would say stubborn."

"As a bulwark," Bail agreed wryly.

"And you trust that Captain Solo is up to that challenge? As you've said, he would not be the first to meet their match in Leia."

"That is very true," Bail acknowledged, somewhat proudly. "But Han doesn't strike me as the type of man who will back down from a challenge...not even one as formidable as our daughter."

Breha could only hope that her husband's faith in Captain Solo had not been misplaced; she knew of several politicians and dignitaries, all vastly experienced but hopelessly over-confident, who had underestimated her daughter and consequently been put firmly in place, their arrogance and egotism having proven no match for Leia's keen intelligence and unwavering integrity.

Leia, Breha mused, would likely prove to be unlike any challenge that Han Solo had ever faced before.


End file.
